


The Casiraghi Effect

by carmenta



Series: Young, Hot and Royal [9]
Category: Royalty RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 181,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/pseuds/carmenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life could have been so simple for Andrea. There's just that little matter with Monaco to deal with. And the complications stemming from being part of a family of colourful eccentrics. And the royal friends, who really can be idiots at times. And the valkyries and their boy toys. And the backstabbing, the plotting and the regrettable lack of colour-coded notes.</p><p>Life, in short, isn't simple at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is real person slash. I want to stress that this is a work of fiction and that all portrayals of real persons are completely fictional interpretations with no relation to reality. I claim no insight into their lives or characters. All future events portrayed in the story are, of course, purely fictional; past events on public record have been used where fitting the story and have been fictionalized accordingly. I intend no harm or insult with this story; no profit is being made.
> 
> To sum it up: this is amateur fiction, not clairvoyance. I'm making this up.
> 
> All real persons obviously belong to themselves, the original characters belong to autumn_belias and me, and yes, it's fiction, totally fiction.

***  
 _September 2014_  
***

As royal weddings went, the more fun they were, the greater the hangover the following morning.

Yesterday's wedding of Prince William of Wales and Prince Carl Philip of Sweden had been a _lot_ of fun.

Andrea Albert Pierre Casiraghi managed to crack one eye open, decided - after some consideration - that his surroundings looked vaguely familiar and might be his hotel room, and dropped his face back into the pillow with a heartfelt groan.

A lot of fun. Hopefully the newlyweds had woken up to more enjoyable sensations this morning than to a head threatening to explode.

"Awake already?" a cheerful voice asked from somewhere to his right. Or his left. No, his right. Probably.

He stilled, then very, very carefully pushed himself up on his elbows and slowly turned his head to check whether he'd really heard that. Given that he recognised the voice, he hoped he was hallucinating.

Unfortunately not.

Her Royal Highness Princess Theodora of Greece and Denmark was watching him with the sort of amused glint in her blue eyes that made all sorts of warning lights go off in his exhausted mind. Blinking, he absently registered that she was mercifully dressed and perched on the second bed, the one that had served as storage for his suitcase yesterday. The suitcase seemed to be gone, but he couldn't muster the energy to worry about that just yet.

She studied him for another second or two and, when he didn't twitch (survival instincts telling him to play dead) got up in one fluid move and crossed over to the low desk which held something sparkly that looked like it might be her clutch. A quick rummage in there, then he heard the tap in the bathroom turn on and off. A few seconds later, a glass of water with what he prayed was a painkiller merrily bubbling in there was placed on the nightstand right in front of his nose.

"I should be downright disappointed in you," she told him.

Andrea managed to shoot her an inquiring look as he reached for the glass and took a careful sip. Aspirin. Heaven.

"Leaving a lady to fend for herself," she continued. "I'd have expected you to have better manners than that."

"What lady?" he asked, tilting back his head and draining the brew in one go, and then had to close his eyes when his brain protested at being sloshed about like that.

Taking the glass from his hand, Theodora lightly swatted his shoulder. "Remember your manners," she commanded. "Or I'll make a loud noise."

Andrea meekly ducked his head. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"You'd better be. I had to recruit Amedeo to drag your sorry self back here." She paused, shaking her head in disapproval as she went to re-fill the glass for him. "And then I had to go and drag _him_ to his room and put him to bed before coming back for you. It's downright tragic to see how little stamina the two of you have when it comes to partying."

"Only in comparison to you," Andrea murmured. Attempting to out-drink Theodora was a mistake nobody made more than once. He had no idea where she put it, but something in her genes gave her a lot more tolerance than anyone would suspect. Probably all that Romanov ancestry, along with her Viking background. 

She blew him a kiss. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Sitting up, Andrea protectively gathered the sheet around himself once he realised he was, for all intents and purposes, naked. Somehow, he didn't want to speculate how he'd arrived in that state. 

"Mind looking the other way while I get dressed?" he asked. Normally he wouldn't care much, but this was Theodora. Theodora was not someone he wanted to face all naked and vulnerable.

"As though you've got anything I haven't seen before," she said dismissively. "Besides, I already got to peel Amedeo out of his clothes last night before tucking him in."

Andrea managed a quirked eyebrow, but couldn't quite muster the energy for teasing.

Theodora reached out to tousle his hair before he could duck away, then looked up sharply when someone knocked at the door. "Expecting anyone?" she asked.

He almost shook his head before his sluggish mind remembered. "Tatiana," he said, worry creeping into his voice at the thought of his girlfriend. She probably didn't expect him to be anything but hung over and still in bed right now, but he was fairly certain she wasn't counting on Greco-Danish princesses being present.

While Theodora went to open the door, Andrea sat up and ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to make himself reasonably presentable. A futile effort, but at least it gave him something to do and let him disperse some of the nervousness he suddenly felt. He heard the two women exchange greetings by the doorway, along with a few words too quiet for him to understand, then Tatiana came into view and he just couldn't help smiling when he saw her.

God, but he loved this woman.

Tatiana took one look at him, then at the second bed which had clearly been slept in as well, glanced at Theodora, then back at him, eyebrows raised. "Long night?"

"Long night," he confirmed, and once again wished she could have been there too. But he'd attended as an official representative of Monaco, and protocol made no allowances for unofficial partners, never mind that they had been together for almost a decade by now. As long as there was no wedding or at least engagement ring, there was no way breaking the rules would have been ignored. Nobody would have said anything, of course, but the Grimaldi reputation was shaky enough in royal circles these days that Andrea didn't intend to worsen it in any way. His uncle did enough of that already.

Tatiana deposited her purse on the low desk in the corner, then ambled to his side to drop a swift kiss on the top of his head, her hand coming up to pet his hair. "Anything I need to know?"

Andrea looked up to meet her eyes. "No," he told her.

She nodded and pecked him on the temple. "Good. Go get a shower, then I'll kiss you properly."

Recognising a command when he heard one, Andrea managed to scramble into a reasonably upright position. Another burst of energy and he was headed in the general direction of the bathroom, even though his body wasn't happy at having to leave the comfortably warm bed when a few more hours of sleep were so very tempting. To imagine that Carl and William had even had the energy to vanish on their honeymoon during the night... although that probably didn't require them to be awake in any way.

Fifteen minutes later, minty-fresh and still faintly damp, he felt slightly more alive as he went to collect his promised reward, along with a pot of coffee which had miraculously appeared while he'd been gone, along with other breakfast-type things.

"I love you," he told Tatiana ardently, helping himself to a cup of glorious espresso.

Tatiana gave him the sort of indulgent look that said she knew it was the caffeine addiction talking, and curled up in her own chair, bare feet tucked in underneath her. "See, it's easy to keep him satisfied," she said to Theodora, who was just buttering a slice of toast.

"That's what my mother keeps telling me whenever she finds a new candidate to present," Theodora said. "As if it isn't plain fact that the nice ones are either spoken for or gay." She paused and reached for one of the small dishes of lemon marmalade. "Or both, for that matter, if you look at Wills and Carl. It's tragic, it really is."

"I thought you were dating Guillaume?" Tatiana asked from behind her tea cup.

Andrea and Theodora exchanged wary looks, then Theodora gave a shrug. "We broke up," she declared, adding a delicate sniff for emphasis.

Tatiana glanced at her, eyebrows raised. "Did you, now."

"I had to dump him when I found out that he's been having an affair with Amedeo behind my back." She gave them both her most serious look. "That's my version of events and I'm sticking with it. Don't believe it if Guillaume says that we've only been friends and that I used him to deflect my mother's attention while he used me as a beard."

"Amedeo is a Habsburg," Andrea supplied helpfully for Tatiana's benefit. "Prince of Belgium. I don't think you've met him yet. Oh, and before I forget, this is supposed to stay a secret." 

But neither Amedeo nor Guillaume could expect him to lie to Tatiana, surely, and besides, it wasn't as if she would either tell anyone, or actually had anybody who'd be particularly interested in that bit of news. Among their friends, even the marriage of Carl and William hadn't received all that much attention beyond a general agreement that it was high time the nobility accepted certain facts of life.

He hadn't expected Tatiana to look quite as surprised at that bit of gossip as she did. "Guillaume is going to admit to being gay? I thought for sure he'd find himself a lavender marriage somewhere. At school he always made all those serious attempts at having girlfriends. Seriously failed at it, too."

Theodora only shrugged. "He's so conscientious, it doesn't surprise me that he gave women a try. He _is_ heir, after all. I just hope he has realised that he isn't going to get Amedeo pregnant, no matter how much effort he puts into it." She smirked. "Not that Amedeo is going to complain, I guess."

Snatching a slice of toast before the two women could polish it all off, Andrea was content to listen to them as he focused on the highly important task of supplying his system with enough caffeine to function.

His thoughts eventually wandered back to Carl and William. Who'd have thought that it would ever come to this, the future King of England married to another man? It had been astonishing enough that they'd made their relationship official; even Andrea had been surprised by that move, and he'd known from personal experience that Carl, at least, considered men an option. But there was quite a step from a fun weekend in Monaco between friends and a serious, committed relationship with someone like William. Committed enough, fortunately, that William didn't appear to feel threatened in any way by the fact that Andrea had once tumbled into bed with his husband.

It wasn't something he felt interested in repeating these days, even if Tatiana were to give him permission again. There simply was no reason, not when he had everything he could ever want in her. And hopefully the same was true for Carl and William; they had looked deliriously happy yesterday, but Andrea didn't know the English prince well enough to be certain. He'd have to trust Carl's judgment on that, and trust that his friend had made a wise decision.

***  
 _October 2014_  
***

It took less than twenty-four hours after the announcement of the second gay royal wedding for Andrea's phone to light up with Carl's private number on the display.

"Why didn't you tell me he's taken up with _Amedeo_?" Carl demanded to know, not even bothering with a greeting.

"Because the idea of Guillaume marrying at all is crazy enough in itself without adding a Habsburg to the mix?" Andrea returned. "Hey, by the way."

"Hey, too. But really... Amedeo?"

Exactly the question Andrea had asked too when he had found out, though apparently for other reasons than Carl. "You have to admit that they fit together. I'm not sure who to worry about more, Amedeo for ending up with Guillaume, or Guillaume for picking an Imperial and Royal Highness."

"Yes, but... Amedeo. He's far too nice and harmless for Guillaume."

Andrea snorted with amusement. "Have you _met_ him lately?" he asked, shaking his head. "Amedeo, harmless. As if. That would be like calling Theodora meek and demure. Anyway, enjoying your honeymoon?"

"It can't go on long enough if you ask me. Do you know how temptingly easy it would be to simply vanish?"

Laughing, Andrea stepped out onto the balcony of his suite of rooms in Monaco's Palais Princier into the autumn sunshine. "I imagine William won't agree to that. Where are you, anyway?"

"Sorry, but I'm not going to tell you over an unsecured phone," Carl said, sounding regretful. It was something he had to be used to by now, this constant threat of invasions of his privacy by the press. As a Swedish prince, he hadn't been nearly as interesting as he was as the future British Prince Consort. Andrea, himself no stranger to being hounded by paparazzi in search of a juicy picture, could only begin to imagine what that sort of insane media attention had to be like.

"Never mind, it's not like it matters, I bet you're mostly seeing hotel rooms anyway," he drawled, leaning on the stone rail to look down across the private gardens. Down by the swimming pool, his uncle's wife waved when she spotted him, but he pretended not to notice. "I'll be nice and not ask whether you're looking at the ceilings or checking the thread count of the linens."

There was a moment of silence at the other end of the line, then a distracted cough. "We do get out," Carl said, then added, "occasionally."

"It's not like you need to if there's room service available," Andrea said reasonably, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sun. "How much longer do you have before you must come back and be all nice and princely?"

Carl breathed an audible sigh. "Officially it's another two weeks, but Wills thinks we're two or three days away from the press catching us. They spotted us in Rio last week and they've been closing in on us ever since."

Andrea murmured a heartfelt curse and fished in his pocket for his sunglasses. "Sorry to hear that," he said, putting them on and blinking in satisfaction. Better, and also much easier to ignore his aunt-by-marriage. One of these days she'd figure out that he wasn't interested in spending more time with her than he absolutely had to. "The offer for Charlotte's island is still standing if you want to escape the media trap."

"Tempting, but don't you think she'll mind? She doesn't know either of us."

"That's easy to fix. Just come to Monaco for a day or two, you can meet her and also Pierre and Tatiana, she's been wanting to meet you in person anyway. We could have a little party and then see you off to a final paparazzi-free week before you have to go and pretend to be a well-behaved prince."

"Tatiana wants to see me?" Carl asked, sounding faintly alarmed. "Why?"

"Because you're my friend? I'm sure she isn't going to ask you about my qualities in bed again."

"She'd better not! Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?"

Andrea shrugged and pushed his sunglasses higher up on his nose. "Not really, no. But don't worry, she'll be nice. You'll like her." And she'd like Carl, he was certain of that. After all, what was there not to like? They both were uncomplicated enough that they got along easily with other people, and surely by now Carl had to know that Tatiana held no grudge against him, and never had.

"If you're sure... I'll have to ask Wills, but I think he'll jump at the chance of an escape from the press. I wish they didn't find us so interesting all of a sudden. You'd think that after four years they'd be used to us, it's not like we're providing them with a scandal or anything."

"You're having officially sanctioned sex now instead of all the illicit sex you had before, it's as simple as that," Andrea said. Down in the gardens, his mother had stepped onto the terrace and was fixing her sister-in-law with a glare full of all the considerable haughtiness she could muster. It took three seconds less than Andrea had expected for it to have an effect. His uncle's wife cleared the field, doing her best to look as though she'd meant to leave anyway. Visibly satisfied, his mother watched her retreat, then waved up to Andrea. He cheerfully waved back. "Anyway, let me know what your husband says to the idea? If he says no, I'm sure you can find ways to convince him."

Carl sounded almost as though he was fighting a laugh. "I'd better not ask what exactly you have in mind."

"If you have to _ask_ , I want to know whatever you're doing on your honeymoon to pass the time. Do I have to get you a few books on the matter?"

Now he did hear a laugh. "I think we've figured out what to do."

"Good, I'd hate for all that lube to go to waste," Andrea teased before turning marginally more serious. Down by the pool, his mother was removing the towels his uncle's wife had left behind, along with what suspiciously looked like a set of clothes abandoned in favour of a hasty retreat. "Call me once you know when you'll arrive, will you?"

It sounded as if there were a quiet discussion at the other end of the line, not loud enough for him to make out any words, though he imagined he heard William's voice. "All right, you get your way," Carl told him after a minute. "Wills says hi, by the way." More murmuring. "And he says to remind you that I belong to him." A brief pause, then, as though spoken past the phone's receiver, "Possessive, are you? It's not like I'm incapable of fending him off, or that I'll need to do so in the first place."

"Certainly not," Andrea said, though he wasn't certain anyone was listening at the other end. "Don't take it personally, but Tatiana has first dibs on me. Sorry."

"I'll have to find a way to console myself," Carl told him, an audible grin to his words. "It's a good thing I've got Wills to keep me occupied."

He heard a grumble in the background that sounded suspiciously like "stop flirting with him, will you?" and had to laugh, loud enough to make his mother look up towards him. "As long as he can keep up with you. So... I'll see you two in a few days?"

More incomprehensible debate, and finally, "I'll call you about the details. And Wills says you aren't allowed to kiss me."

Andrea smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it."

***

Football usually was fun to watch, but under these specific circumstances, Andrea could think of a number of more appealing activities than sit in the VIP area of a friendly between Monaco and Andorra, wedged in between his uncle and Monaco's Counsellor for Internal Affairs. He hadn't been asked whether he wanted to attend. He hadn't been asked whether he was willing to have the paparazzi go crazy because they hadn't had a shot at him since the wedding of William and Carl. And he hadn't been asked whether he had anything better to do, such as spend the evening with Tatiana, whom he hadn't seen for a week while he'd been in France to deal with his charity projects.

No, they'd merely informed him that he was to present himself half an hour before the game, suitably dressed for a public appearance with Monaco's governing body. Part of their efforts to keep the media fed with interesting pictures, he knew; they still thought this would be enough to maintain Monaco's image as a capital of elegant glamour. As though it would be enough for that to occasionally parade Andrea and his siblings in front of the press, and leave it to Albert and his wife the rest of the time. Glamour wasn't exactly the first thing that came to mind with those two.

At least he had to be radiating a suitably irritated air, since they were all leaving him alone. Andrea understood the necessity of these appearances, he was hardly blind to their importance. He also understood why his mother insisted that he didn't waste these opportunities to be seen with his uncle in public. As long as there was no legitimate nephew - as opposed to the illegitimate ones Albert had fathered and was studiously ignoring - Andrea still was the de facto heir, and it was best to keep the idea present in everyone's mind.

Politics, such a necessary evil, he thought as he watched the football game down on the artificial lawn. One that was bound to dominate his life unless a miracle happened and his uncle did manage to sire an heir. Considering that Andrea had rather concrete suspicions concerning his mother, his uncle's cook, matters of monetary and nonmonetary persuasion and, finally, birth control pills faithfully mixed into his aunt-by-marriage's breakfast cereals, he wasn't holding his breath. And a good thing it was, because if the current situation of incompetent government, ruinous and trashy public appearances and wasted opportunities for long-term development continued for much longer, Andrea wouldn't have to worry about ruling because there wouldn't actually be a country left to govern.

To his right, the Counsellor took out his phone with no regard for the fact that the cameras frequently switched to them. Suppressing a sigh, Andrea glanced at his uncle from the corner of his eye and found him looking thoroughly bored as well.

Perfect. And these people were supposed to run the principality when they couldn't even pay attention to ninety minutes of football.

It was enough to make him almost miss Guillaume's company for the match. He was sent to Monaco to attend sports events on occasion - presumably whenever the Luxembourgian royal court couldn't scramble together a credible excuse why their Hereditary Grand Duke had something better to do, which wasn't too often. While Andrea still wasn't entirely certain what to think of him, it at least meant decent company and proper entertainment.

Guillaume probably didn't view it in the same fashion, since he tended to look as if he were fighting off a migraine whenever he had to sit between Andrea and Albert for two hours. So far, however, he hadn't complained out loud, but done as ordered and put on a brave face.

In the past, Andrea had never entirely understood what made people like Carl or William - or Guillaume, even more - dedicate themselves and their lives to their countries to the extent they did. They were working royals, and at least the heirs had never actually had a choice about the rights and duties which had come with their first breath. And yet they didn't complain, they didn't resist, but did what was expected of them. Even with his mother's example, he'd never seen what made them do it. It was one thing to make appropriate appearances for national celebrations and important events a few times a year, and quite another to do so every week or even day.

Less than ten years after his uncle had taken on the reins of Monaco, Andrea found it a lot easier to comprehend what pushed them to accept that sort of life. If the other option was to stand back and watch as incompetent idiots performed those duties, it was really the only choice to take it on yourself.

For now, all he could do was watch and wait and hope that somehow it would turn out all right somehow. But when he was the only one to even notice that a goal had been scored down on the field, the only one to applaud, it didn't bode well.

***

When the concierge called from downstairs to announce two visitors, Andrea simply had to go and wait in the open door of his private apartment down by Monaco's harbour, a short but important distance away from the Palais Princier. There were times when it was convenient to escape the official surroundings with all their complications, and considering who his visitors were, he was certain they'd appreciate it too.

The elevator doors slid open and the inevitable pair of security guards stepped out first and checked the hallway before moving aside to make way for their charges.

"Carl!" Andrea called out when he spotted his friend, and in a few quick steps closed the distance between them - much to the irritation of the guards - to catch him in a tight embrace and kiss him first on the cheeks and then his mouth in greeting. A moment's hesitation, then Carl hugged him back.

"You realise you probably just confused the hell out of Wills, right?" he murmured in Andrea's ear.

True, the Brits probably were slightly less enthusiastic about their welcome rituals, but Andrea wasn't about to let that spoil his fun. "He'd better get used to it," he whispered back before releasing Carl again. A glance at William to gauge his mood - which seemed to hover somewhere between stunned puzzlement and wariness - and he figured he might as well make his point now and get any awkwardness over with.

William was somewhat less cooperative about being hugged, though he at least didn't try to step back. In reward, Andrea only pecked him on the cheek to start him off easy. There surely would be plenty of time to train him up to full and proper greetings, it wouldn't do to make him keel over from shock the first time already.

"Hi," he said cheerfully, his hands sliding to William's upper arms to keep him in place. "Welcome to Monaco."

He received a bemused stare in return until William seemed to recover his wits. "Ah... thank you," he managed and turned his head to throw Carl a beseeching look, only to receive an open grin in return.

"You might as well get used to it," Carl told his husband, "they all do that here."

"Much nicer than boring handshakes," Andrea added and kissed William's cheek once more to underscore his point before stepping back. "Come on in, I'll introduce you to everyone."

Carl's words turned out to be true; in the next minute he and William collected more kisses from Pierre and Charlotte, and of course from Tatiana, who swooped down on Carl as soon as she spotted him and dragged him off under the pretence of recruiting his help for fetching drinks despite his polite attempts to escape her.

"She'll bring him back, right?" William asked, a hint of nervousness audible in his tone.

Andrea patted his shoulder in consolation. "Don't worry, she's simply looked forward to meeting him face to face for years now." And while she _had_ promised not to bring up Andrea and Carl's weekend together, she probably had no compulsions where other sorts of teasing were concerned, not when she'd pegged Carl as an interesting victim years ago already.

William didn't look terribly reassured, but followed Andrea's suggestion to sit down rather than rush into the kitchen to heroically attempt to rescue his husband. It would have been a futile effort anyway; Tatiana never surrendered when she'd just gotten what she wanted.

"Are you expecting anyone else?" he asked once he was perched on the couch, part of his attention obviously on the hallway leading to the kitchen where Carl and Tatiana had disappeared to.

Andrea dropped down by his side. "No, we thought we'd keep it to family and make sure you'll have privacy," he said. No-one here would breathe a word of the whereabouts of Carl and William; they all knew well enough how irritating the paparazzi could be, and none of them were even nearly as interesting as the first gay royal couple in Europe. And they also knew that it could be exhausting to meet new people when inevitably the first encounter was bound to focus on one's status as a member of a ruling dynasty.

"Thank you," William said, and it sounded more heartfelt than a few minutes earlier. "I think we managed not to be noticed on the way here, it would be perfect if we can keep that up."

"Carl still hasn't warmed up to the press?" Andrea asked.

William just snorted. "I doubt he ever will. And I'm not too keen on them either when we're trying to spend some private time together."

Andrea had to bite his tongue not to make any of the teasing remarks that were threatening to slip out and reminded himself that he wanted William to like him. The man didn't seem concerned about the possibility of Andrea and Carl rekindling their brief affair, but that didn't mean he ought to be pushed. After all, it would be a shame if they couldn't get along. Andrea liked Carl, and he'd missed the friendship between them during the years when circumstances had kept their paths from crossing. This was the chance to rebuild it, and he intended to seize it. William seemed nice enough in his own right, and since Carl had willingly married him - and, more importantly, was willingly putting up with worldwide attention in his life for him - it was reason enough for Andrea to play nice.

"Charlotte has the perfect solution for that pesky paparazzi problem," he said instead and settled into a comfortable slouch.

From the sofa opposite from theirs, his sister looked up at the sound of her name. "I have what?" she wanted to know.

"An island getaway." Andrea still wasn't entirely sure what had made their grandparents gift a seven-year-old with her own private Mediterranean island, but it had turned into a great convenience over the years. Fortunately for him and Pierre, Charlotte was willing to share with her brothers.

"Oh, that, yes. William, I hope you two are able to feed yourselves? The pantry is stocked, but there isn't anyone else there at the moment, so you'll be on your own."

"We'll manage," William assured her. "Thank you for letting us stay there, the media was hot on our tail already."

"I saw the candid shots," Charlotte said, a frown on her face. "Irritating people, they keep coming after us as well. It's just fair that we band together and present a united front."

William nodded. "If we can ever return the favour..."

Charlotte just waved her hand. "I'll let you know. You're Andrea's friends, that means you can ask us for these things, and we'll ask in turn. It makes life much less complicated if we get that straight from the start, so if you don't agree, better say it now."

By now, William was openly smiling. "Sounds fine to me."

"Perfect. Though I should warn you, Pierre was really excited about you two coming for a visit. He's probably up to something."

William didn't look too concerned at that, but Andrea figured that he'd learn soon enough.

By the time Tatiana and Carl came back, drinks in hand, they'd all settled into comfortable chatter, though William occasionally had odd little moments where he seemed not entirely sure what to make of their small circle.

"Oh, good, they haven't eaten you yet," Carl said as he passed William an opened bottle of Kilkenny and sat down by his side, his hand almost immediately claiming William's in what looked like an automatic gesture.

"Too stringy," Charlotte said.

Tatiana gave William an appraising look and nodded. "True. Perhaps with a good, spicy salsa..."

Charlotte considered for a moment, then waved off. "I wouldn't bother. Let Carl nibble on him, I think it's an acquired taste."

"Probably," Tatiana agreed. "You know those Brits, marinated in beer, that's got to leave an aftertaste."

William half-choked on his mouthful of beer and surreptitiously inched closer to Carl.

"So I don't have to worry that you'll start nibbling on anyone else but me?" Andrea asked, stretching his legs out before him. He accidentally knocked his knee against William's, but didn't bother moving away when there weren't any complaints. Either that, or William was still distracted by idle contemplations of cannibalism.

Tatiana dropped a kiss on the top of his head, then demonstratively bit his earlobe, hard enough to make him flinch. "As long as you keep me satisfied," she whispered, and he could smell the faint scent of her perfume. "In all ways."

To his left, William turned bright red.

Tilting his head back, Andrea winked at her. "Of course, my dear lady. Always."

"I'll hold you to that." Another nip, then she made herself comfortable at his side. "Wills, next time the two of you vanish to South America, tell us. We'd have visited if we'd known."

William leaned forward so he could look at her. "It _was_ our honeymoon," he said. "And not that I wouldn't have appreciated the company, but the whole point is to spend time together without anyone else."

Tatiana waved off. "You've been together for what now, four years? Surely there isn't much left for you to try."

"Maybe not try," Charlotte said and daintily sipped at her wine, "but practice makes perfect, as they say."

Together the two women swiftly built up a cheerful conversation, drawing in William and Carl with the ease of long practice. It was always fun to watch them at it, and this skill that always kept private meetings from growing boring or tense was an impressive weapon in public situations, where it turned them into forces to be reckoned with when it came to casual mingling and networking.

After a little while, Pierre rejoined them too; he took a quick look around, went into the kitchen to fetch another round of drinks, and finally found himself a spot next to Charlotte.

"So you're still here after all," Andrea said. "I thought maybe you'd wandered off."

"And miss a chance at a nice evening with Carl, now that he's finally back?" Pierre returned. "I've got to seize the opportunity before he vanishes again. No, I had to sort out a few issues with the board of directors, we're in the middle of a takeover bid." He smirked, looking thoroughly satisfied with himself. "Always those competitors who think they can annoy us without consequences."

"So you'll be successful at it?" William asked in an obvious bid at polite conversation. It was amazing how swiftly the man could slip into 'young royal making business-oriented small-talk' mode.

Pierre lazily rolled his shoulders. "We have to get it over with by the end of the week, there's no way around that. I'm supposed to go and row around Corsica in a canoe then."

There was a moment of stunned silence as their guests tried to make sense of that statement, then Carl carefully ventured, "Why are you paddling around Corsica?"

"Because it's smaller than Sardinia and we thought we'd start off easy," Pierre explained as though it were the most logical thing in the world. And it was for him, Andrea knew. He was familiar enough with occasional inquiries from the police whether the family was aware what his younger brother got up to, be it week-long trips in horse-drawn, settler-style wagons or attempts to conquer mountaintops in the name of Monaco.

"As long as you don't end up with the coast guard again," Charlotte told him.

"That was a very sad misunderstanding and you know it."

"We had to post bail for you. Do you know how hard it was to explain that to Mama?"

Pierre just shook his head and breathed a woeful sigh. "Some people simply don't see that sometimes you have to try for something unusual."

And that, Andrea knew, was something his brother was extremely good at. All three of them were used to doing things their own way, but while Andrea and Charlotte tended to stay within the boundaries of generally accepted normality, Pierre worked by his own rules, and with enough panache that he usually got away with it.

"You know," William said later that evening, when the two of them ended up in the kitchen together in search of something to eat, "your brother is... different."

Andrea snorted with laughter. "You're one to talk. Compared to Harry, Pierre is a saint."

"Gets caught in public with his trousers down just as often, though." Leaning against the countertop, William looked on as Andrea checked the cupboards for edible contents. "Ever tried talking him out of it?"

Andrea glanced at him. "Why would I? Pierre's old enough to know what he's doing, and he's not stupid enough to do anything illegal. Besides, I don't know about your brother, but convincing mine of something... Might as well beat my head against a wall, it would have more of an effect."

The cupboards didn't yield anything beyond a few packs of crisps, so he gave the fridge a try. One of the disadvantages of regularly living in four or five places; he could never quite remember whether he'd stocked up on groceries in Paris or Monaco.

"Your sister seems to have him in hand, though," William said.

"Naturally," Andrea agreed, poking his head inside the fridge to see what he could find to feed his guests. Perhaps it would have been more convenient to stay in the palace, but then they'd have had to make it plain to his uncle and aunt that they wished no interruptions. More hassle than it was worth, Andrea and Tatiana had agreed. "Charlotte and Tatiana both, they only have to snap their fingers. But that's hardly a surprise. Here, hold that, will you?"

William took the bottle thrust at him. "They both seem nice," he said, unscrewing the top and taking a careful sniff. "What on Earth is that?" he asked, eyeing the clear liquid doubtfully.

"Banana brandy, we picked it up in Brazil last time we were there." Andrea dismissed the solid contents of the fridge as more or less useless, but found two bottles of vodka in the freezer compartment. "Try it, the stuff isn't bad."

Half an hour later, food forgotten, they companionably sat on the kitchen floor together, bottle of banana brandy (now almost empty) between them, and were well on the way towards getting thoroughly plastered.

"I still don't get it," William said, gesturing vaguely, "why you all make such a fuss about the girls being scary."

Laughing, Andrea leaned his head back and banged it against the cupboard door. "Because they _are_ ," he insisted, rubbing the sore spot at the back of his head. "You've met Madeleine. Surely you can see she's scary."

"Yes, but that's Madde, there've got to be nice ones." William took another swig of banana brandy, then offered the bottle to Andrea. "There are, aren't there?"

Andrea accepted the brandy and looked mournfully at the small amount of liquid left. "Oh, of course they're nice. Most of them, at least. But look around the high nobility and I guarantee you won't find a single woman who's all nice and meek and quiet. Actually the quiet ones are the really dangerous ones, they'll plot circles around you."

"If you say so..."

"You really should have had a sister, you're woefully unprepared for life out there in the royal circles. Theodora will eat you alive and ask for dessert afterwards."

William gave him a contemplative look. "I don't know," he said. "She's my cousin."

"Guillaume's your cousin too," Andrea pointed out, though he had lost track whether he was actually making a point. It still seemed like an important thing to say, though.

"Everyone's a cousin of mine." William drew up one knee and folded his hands around it. "You are, too."

Andrea glanced at him. "Am not," he protested.

"Of course you are," William insisted. "Eighth degree." He paused to think. "Maybe ninth. Makes you related to Guillaume, too. And Amedeo."

That was... "I'm not having Habsburgs in my ancestry," Andrea said firmly. Another swig of banana brandy, then he passed the bottle back to William and slowly got to his feet to fetch one of the vodka bottles and, on second thought, a carton of orange juice. He'd already sat down again when it occurred to him that glasses might have come in handy. One glance at the crockery cupboard, so far away on the other side of the kitchen, and he decided they'd just have to deal.

Puzzling together royal ancestry when you had plenty of brandy in your system - and were gradually mixing it with vodka and homoeopathic doses of orange juice - was trickier than expected. Much to his relief, they determined that the Habsburg connection, while frightfully true, at least dated back to the sixteenth century and probably didn't mean he had to worry about any inherited imperial weirdness to surface in his life.

They were just attempting to work out the relation between William and Andrea when Tatiana peered at them from the open door. "I should have known it wouldn't be safe to let the two of you vanish by yourselves," she said, a grin on her face. "Having fun, boys?"

"Indubitably," William told her, after several attempts. Andrea cheerfully nodded in agreement.

"Well, in that case I'll just let you go on," she said and went to the fridge to collect the second bottle of vodka, then glanced down at the two of them. "Do you need the juice?"

Andrea hugged the carton close. "Yes," he said. "Vitamins."

Tatiana arched a delicate eyebrow. "Of course. Oh, Wills, you and Carl are in the guest room, second door to the right, just in case Andrea forgets about that or can't remember where it is."

Andrea frowned up at her, and she just reached down to affectionately tousle his hair before she headed for the door again.

"Don't stay up too late," she told them over her shoulder. " I think Carl's about to drop from jet lag, so make sure you don't wake him up."

"As though anyone could wake him if he's really tired," William murmured when she was gone, and polished off the last of the brandy. "I swear, in winter he hibernates."

"Not like there's anything better to do in Sweden during that time of the year." Andrea shifted to find a more comfortable seat on the hard wooden floor. A slight slide to the side and he had his cheek resting against William's shoulder, which wasn't exactly feather-pillow-soft but still more comfortable than the cupboard front he'd been leaning against. "Does he still snore?"

William turned a little to look down at him. "He doesn't. Never has."

"Huh." Andrea frowned as he contemplated that bit of information. "Maybe he's allergic to me."

A quiet sigh sounded from above. "You know," William told him, "you really shouldn't say things like that about my husband."

Andrea tilted his head back to meet his eyes. "Sorry. I meant what I said at your wedding."

William held his gaze. "No plans about shagging Carl anymore?"

"None whatsoever," Andrea assured him. "I know he's yours. Or that you're his. Or however that works for the two of you. Anyway, that he isn't mine and that I mustn't borrow him either."

William's hand came up to clumsily pet his hair. "Exactly," he said and uncapped the vodka bottle.

***

The next morning arrived with a blaring headache, horrible sunshine through the open curtains and the sharp clatter of plates mingled with cheerful voices from the kitchen.

Andrea grumbled wordlessly and snuggled closer to the warm body in front of him, burying his nose in the soft hair. Too early to wake up, he thought sleepily. Or if not too early, then at least not nearly long enough since he'd stumbled into bed.

He'd almost gone back to sleep again by the time the small part of his mind which was in any sort of working condition managed to get his attention and point out that Tatiana had longer hair, narrower shoulders, didn't have beard stubble and also didn't smell faintly of aftershave.

Andrea very cautiously cracked an eye open.

This was bad. 

This was very, very bad.

On the other hand, he was still dressed or, rather, still wearing shorts. Just like William - Wills, his mind prompted, and he dimly remembered being told not to use that entire mouthful but go for the abbreviation like everybody else. And outside in the kitchen he could hear Tatiana and Carl talking.

Presumably that meant they'd noticed their significant others were missing. Even more presumably, they'd checked to see where they'd gone. Surely Carl had at least attempted to go to sleep in the bed assigned to him, and had been thwarted by Andrea sort of taking up his spot.

For some reason, Andrea didn't want to know exactly what discussions between him and Tatiana that must have prompted.

Still, those two had to know, and if they'd had any problems with it, they'd have done something loud and painful about it. So ... he drew a deep breath and slung his arm low across Wills to tuck himself comfortably against the other man's back. Might as well get some more sleep in peace and quiet before he had to face the consequences.

When he woke again, minutes or hours later, his head felt less like it had been stuffed with wool, but that increase in clarity came hand in hand with the awareness that last night might bring consequences. Which was unfair since (as far as he could remember or deduce, at least) nothing beyond sleep had occurred. But these things were never entirely clear-cut, and Carl probably couldn't be blamed if he didn't approve of Andrea toppling into bed with his newly wedded husband.

Speaking of whom, there was a distinct lack of British prince compared to the earlier state of affairs. Not in bed anymore and, as Andrea confirmed with a cautious glance over the edge of the mattress, not fallen out either. He just hoped Wills hadn't done something silly, like attempt to flee without remembering to put on more than the shorts he'd been wearing.

Another minute to rally his energy, then Andrea scrambled into a more or less upright position and aimed for the kitchen, divine source of caffeine and headache pills.

"Will you look at that," Tatiana said when he came through the door. "Another survivor."

To her left, Carl set his coffee cup down on the table. "Amazing. Though he looks even worse than Wills did."

Tatiana made a disapproving moue. "He's not as young as he used to be, unfortunately. Half a night of partying and he staggers around like that."

"Tragic," Carl agreed dryly and reached for a slice of fresh baguette. "On the other hand, I should probably be glad that he didn't have the energy to get up to anything."

"Doesn't usually stop him," Tatiana said, faintly smiling into her own espresso. "Then again, the last time he fell into bed with anyone who wasn't me was... well. You, actually."

Carl's expression turned very cautious and he buttered his slice of bread with the intense concentration usually reserved for things like neurosurgery.

Sighing deeply, Andrea raked a hand through his hair - which felt more ruffled than usual - and snatched the coffee pot. "Different circumstances," he murmured.

"Just so." Tatiana passed him a cup and gestured at the chair to her right, where the place setting looked unused. "Which is why you're permitted to have breakfast with us. Though, really, it's not polite to make your guest sleep on the couch. Especially when you're displacing him from his rightful spot beside his husband."

"Sorry," Andrea mumbled into his coffee, then was too occupied with the taste and scent and sheer sensation of caffeine hitting his taste buds and, he fancied, his blood stream.

"It's not me you need to apologise to," Tatiana told him. "Not exclusively, at least, but I can live with it in this case. You still smell like bananas."

Andrea peered at her and found her still smiling, so he put down his coffee and looked at Carl. "I'm sorry," he offered, and had the faint sensation of a deja-vu. "You know I wouldn't..."

Not without explicit permission from all stakeholders, at least.

"I should hope not," Carl said, but passed him the bread basket in an implicit peace offering. "But next time, remember that you have a very lovely girlfriend," he was rewarded with a pat to the shoulder from Tatiana. "Stay put. It's confusing to find you snuggled up to Wills."

Tatiana murmured something that sounded suspiciously like, "Cognitive dissonance is a bitch."

He was allowed to have breakfast more or less in peace from then on, and Tatiana even mercifully laid her cool hand against the nape of his neck and petted away some of the dull grumbling in his head. Forgiven, he figured with some relief, and knew that he could consider himself fortunate. Anyone else might not trust him so much in this sort of situation.

A few minutes later he heard one of the doors in the hallway open and shut, followed by footsteps and the appearance of a freshly showered British prince in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Morning," Wills offered after a careful look at the three of them.

"And a very good morning to you," Tatiana returned. "Breakfast?"

Wills slowly sat down on the last free chair, between Andrea and Carl.

Tatiana watched him, then shook her head decisively. "And stop looking like that, both of you. Surely you don't think Carl and I would have left you like that if it bothered us? But you looked far too cute, all curled up like really drunken puppies, so we thought we'd leave you to sleep off at least some of the stuff."

Andrea glanced at her. "Did you, now."

"Of course we checked on you. Who do you think got you out of your clothes and under the sheets? You were both rat-arsed drunk, don't tell me you could have found your way out of a t-shirt."

He really should have known, Andrea thought as he digested that particular bit of information. Reaching for the honey, he winked at his erstwhile bedmate. "In that case, I hope it was good for you too."

To his credit, Wills needed just a second to switch from looking vaguely concerned to reassured; Carl's hand on his elbow probably helped with that. "Not bad, but I've had better."

"Next time," Andrea drawled, and he could only guess who it was that kicked his ankle.

Wills snorted. "Keep dreaming."

***  
 _November 2014_  
***

One of the advantages of all the otherwise tedious pseudo-charity events run by his uncle these days was that they put a lot of fiendishly wealthy people with a need for one-upmanship into one place for a few hours. If you happened to be involved in a real charity organisation with long-term objectives and a genuine need for support, it was a prime opportunity to channel these people's competitive nature into cheque-writing.

Sometimes it was downright amazing how much money you could coax out of someone just by casually mentioning that the previous donation had come with five figures in front of the comma. Andrea spent the evening chatting, schmoozing and cajoling, and by midnight, a well-deserved glass of champagne in hand, he retreated into a quiet corner to just breathe for a moment and have a quick smoke.

His brother joined him a few minutes later, politely cheerful expression changing to irritated as soon as only Andrea was there to notice. "Have you worked out yet what exactly tonight is about?" Pierre asked, leaning against the wall beside him.

"Officially? I think we're here to show our support for some sort of maritime ecology research grant. But I'm not sure, I couldn't make heads or tails of Uncle Albert's speech and I never saw a formal invitation." It had been another case of being commandeered when the guest list hadn't filled up as planned, something which was happening more and more often.

Pierre sighed. "And unofficially?"

Andrea glanced at him. "You have to ask?"

They both looked across the ball room, where their uncle's wife was holding court in yet another of her life-sucking, shoulder-free black gowns. Sometimes Andrea wondered whether she'd ever noticed that she was always surrounded by the same sycophants and that a lot of others - mainly those of a genuinely Monegasque background - gave her a wide berth, along with sidelong glances.

"Look on the bright side," Pierre said. "This should be enough ego-stroking for her to last her a week or two. Enough time for us to find other things to do. Is she coming to the World AIDS Day Gala?"

Andrea shook his head. "Not allowed," he said with no little satisfaction. "Princess Mette-Marit is coming, and I think a Bourbon or two are scheduled as well. There's no way Uncle Albert would allow her to attend, they might notice the lack of a brain."

Pierre surveyed the room with a smile fixed on his face. "As though they haven't worked that out yet. Remember last summer, when she told Queen Margrethe that she's the Duchess of Monte Carlo? You'd think she'd worked out the name of the country, at least."

"That would require actual interest in the place," Andrea commented. "Anyway, the gala is safe. And even if it weren't, Mama is coming as well."

Pierre suddenly looked genuinely amused. "In that case it's almost a pity. It's always fun to see her scare off auntie dearest with a glower."

"Well, if it amuses her I'm not going to spoil her fun," Andrea said, fishing in his coat pocket for his cell phone when it began to vibrate. A glance at the text message he'd received, a smirk, then he raised the phone to his ear.

It only took two rings before the call was answered. "Not asleep yet?" Wills wanted to know.

Andrea raised an eyebrow. "It's barely midnight," he said. "And I don't have to be home before the bell tolls so I don't turn into a pumpkin. Miss me already, do you?"

"Terribly," Wills told him dryly.

"You're always welcome to come for another visit. But if you didn't text me out of sheer longing, how can I be of service?"

There was a brief pause, then, "This may be a little strange... No, forget that, it _is_ strange, but you seem to know more about the issue than I do. Any idea how I can get Carl to go to Luxembourg with me next week? I've got a state visit, but he isn't exactly excited at the prospect of dealing with Guillaume."

Which was something Andrea really couldn't blame his friend for. Guillaume... that was a special case, and he'd long given up attempting to make sense of the Luxembourgian heir. It was a pity; they crossed paths once or twice every year and those encounters could have been so much easier. As it was, they approached each other with a healthy dose of caution and generally ran avoidance strategies.

One of these days, that was bound to stop working. Andrea could see the direction his life was taking: more official duties as a representative of Monaco, a more distinctive profile in public to support his charity work. Aspects where someone like Guillaume, with his connections and his experience, would make a valuable acquaintance and advisor, and Andrea liked to think that he himself had a few advantages to offer in turn as well. But that required the two of them capable of staying in the same room for longer than absolutely necessary, and right now that wasn't happening. It hadn't been happening since their first encounter almost ten years ago.

"I assume you've tried all the reasonable and rational arguments to convince him that he's likely to survive a trip to Luxembourg without an assault on life, limb or virtue?"

Pierre glanced at him askance at that while keeping an eye on the other party guests, just in case anyone decided to invade their privacy.

"I've tried that for days now." There was a hint of frustration in William's voice, and Andrea had to sympathise. Carl in a stubborn mood was not exactly easy to deal with. "I promised to keep the visit as short as possible, I told him we'd make certain he didn't have to let me out of sight. I've even offered him the chance to drive there rather than fly."

"And even that didn't work?" Andrea asked, deeply impressed. Petrol was Carl's drug of choice, after all. "There's not much left, is there? Have you tried sex?"

There was silence at the other end of the line, and Pierre started to look genuinely curious about the half of the conversation he couldn't hear.

"It usually works excellently as a means of persuasion," Andrea added.

Pierre shot him an amused look.

There was something that might have been a contemplative hum from Wills, followed by, "You might have a point."

"Of course I do," Andrea drawled. "And I'm sure you could make it a very convincing argument."

Wills gave a brief laugh. "Do I have to remind you that I'm married? And not to you?"

Andrea sighed. "Missed opportunities," he said. "Though I cannot blame Carl for staking his claim on you. And vice versa, of course. You could talk me into going to Luxembourg with you any time."

Yet another brief silence over in England. "I assume Tatiana isn't standing next to you right now?" Wills asked eventually.

Looking around, Andrea spotted her across the room, deep in talk with Charlotte and once more the bright splash of colour against the backdrop of boring, darkly muted evening dresses "She isn't, actually, but it hardly makes a difference. I wouldn't say anything I couldn't say in her presence either."

By chance, Tatiana turned in his direction and noticed that he still had his eyes on her. She waved, leaned in to whisper something in Charlotte's ear and came towards him in her long, smooth stride.

"Tatiana must be very..."

"Special?" Andrea suggested, smiling at her. "Amazing? Unique?"

"I was going to say 'tolerant', or perhaps 'patient'."

He half-listened to Wills, half to Pierre as he filled Tatiana in on what she'd missed in the last few minutes. She just raised an eyebrow, stepped up to him, pecked him on the cheek and deftly plucked the phone from his hand.

"Wills? If Andrea doesn't behave, call me and I'll set him straight. But he's right, you ought to consider sex as a means of persuasion with Carl, I'm sure you could make him go along with all sorts of ideas if you just gave it a try." She hummed in agreement a few times. "And while we're at it, don't forget about the AIDS gala in three weeks, we're counting on you and Carl." Another brief pause. "Perfect... Yes, I'll tell him. Luxembourg?... In that case grab Guillaume too, tell him I'll come to fetch him personally if he doesn't agree... Exactly. Give Carl a kiss for me, will you?"

Andrea took the cell phone back when she held it out to him and pocketed it. "Are you giving me a kiss from Wills, too?" he asked.

In response, Tatiana brushed her lips against his cheek once more, then found his mouth for a more thorough kiss. "Not from Wills," she told him, "this one is entirely from me."

Behind her, Pierre cleared his throat. "Want me to cover for you two so you can escape?"

Highly tempting, but Andrea regretfully shook his head. "I've got to stay for another hour or so, or it will look odd."

"As though you care," Pierre said dismissively.

"I don't. Mama, however..." Had been adamant that he had to do his best to be seen and present a good picture, which really wasn't too hard to do when compared to a lot of the other guests.

"That's different, of course," his brother agreed. "Do you want me to stay too? I'm not under orders, but if you want someone to watch your back, I don't mind."

"Thanks, but it's enough if one of us suffers. I'll make the rounds once more, and I've got to take care of my donation for tonight as well, I didn't get to that yet." And he hadn't wanted to, either; his uncle's projects had a tendency to fizzle out before any actual results could be reached. Waste of money, waste of time, but as nephew of the project founder, Andrea could hardly refuse to participate.

Pierre just smirked. "Already taken care of. I've made a very generous donation in the name of all of us, from the company charity budget. And it's tied to the condition that we've got to approve of whatever Uncle Albert wants to use it for." He paused, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "If it isn't used within six months, it reverts back to us so we can do something useful with it."

"Perfect, thank you." Andrea shot him a grateful smile.

"That reminds me," Tatiana said, "if you are going to buy raffle tickets, make sure you get them from Charlotte's basket and that you take one with a blue ribbon."

"Primed?" Pierre asked, his tone interested.

"We didn't think either of you wanted to run the risk of drawing a dinner with your aunt. It _is_ supposed to be the big prize tonight."

Andrea turned towards her, chuckling when he saw the angelic expression on her face. "Let someone else have that honour."

***  
 _December 2014_  
***

Three weeks later, he was comfortably sprawled on the padded bench in the stern of one of the palace's small motor boats, Wills and Carl on the seats opposite from him and a picnic basket with lunch - provided by the princely kitchen - between them. They'd come out far enough that they were safe from the prying paparazzi with their telephoto lenses and were soaking up the Mediterranean early winter sunshine, swaying gently on the waves.

"Is the press going to stay for the entire gala tonight?" Wills asked as he topped up their glasses (grape juice, a concession to Andrea who, as the only one among them with a boating license, was their designated skipper and had to endure enforced sobriety).

Andrea shook his head and reached up to adjust his sunglasses. "Only for the dinner and speeches, we'll be rid of them afterwards. My mother managed to outmaneuvre Uncle Albert on that one, she knows most of the guests want to have a chance to mingle without being shadowed at every step." Especially since they had more highly-ranked participants than they had initially counted on; they'd planned on the attendance of a handful of lesser members of royal families, but people like Wills and Carl, and even Theodora of Greece and Denmark, were a lot more than anyone had dared to hope for. Andrea was still a little surprised that they'd actually come, when every public appearance so soon after their wedding was still greeted with frenetic media attention. And the same was true for Guillaume and Amedeo - another surprise acceptance of an invitation - who'd only officially outed themselves as a couple a few weeks ago. Reason enough to make certain none of them would regret coming to Monaco. It was hard enough these days to escape the tarnished image the country had acquired in the past years.

It was enough of a tell-tale sign that this year's AIDS gala was the first in almost a decade with a filled guest list, just because Andrea's mother had accepted the official patronage instead of his uncle. The divide was becoming more and more visible there, and Andrea was still caught in the middle between wishing his uncle would finally wisen up, stop acting like a fool and take control of the flunkies running the government for him, and the option of him stepping down so either his mother or Andrea himself could take over. Never mind that the latter option was scary enough to give him sleepless nights at times.

"Everything all right?" Carl's voice made him sit up sharply and smile almost automatically. His friend looked happy, comfortably tucked against William's side like that, and radiated an air of quiet contentment. Everything seemed to be right in that particular little corner of the world, and it made Andrea glad to see it.

"Just thinking that it's good to have you two here," he said and took a drag on his cigarette. 

Wills raised both eyebrows. "Missed us already, did you?"

"It's nice to have sensible people around."

Carl and Wills looked at each other, then at him. "That depends on your standard of comparison, I guess," Carl said. "When you look at us, and then at Guillaume and Amedeo, we're the saner option for sure."

"Those two are coming too, by the way. Whatever you said to them, it must have been enough. Tatiana didn't have to do anything to persuade them." Andrea paused. "A pity, almost. She was really looking forward to growling at Guillaume."

"As though there's any reason why she can't do that nonetheless." Carl passed his glass to Wills for safekeeping and dug a box of sandwiches out of the basket.

Andrea shook his head. "Bad idea, we really shouldn't scare them off. The Luxembourgian royals are among the very few who actually talk to us Grimaldis, we'd better not ruin that."

William frowned at him. "Surely it's not that bad."

Carl, on the other hand, looked thoughtful as he handed out the sandwiches. "Vicky usually took care of any duties in Monaco, she mentioned once or twice that she never met a lot of the other usual suspects on the royal circuit. I remember she joked about being guaranteed to get Guillaume for a dinner partner because they'd be the highest-ranking guests."

"That's..." Wills trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

"Not impressive?" Andrea suggested. "It isn't. But it's been like that for the last years. Uncle Albert has managed to be really thorough for once." And had managed to blame international royal aloofness and jealousy of Monaco's success. Which success exactly he was talking about was something Andrea so far hadn't managed to work out.

Wills took a bite of his sandwich, chewed thoughtfully, swallowed. "You haven't had any actual official events lately, though, have you? Gran would have sent Uncle Edward for those."

"Of course we have, but most people manage to fill up their schedules in advance. I think your uncle's last excuse was that he had to attend the opening of the Chelsea Flower Show." Andrea shrugged and took one of the sandwiches out of the box when Carl held it out to him. "I can't even blame anyone for not coming, but it really doesn't make things easier."

"It's not something you need to worry about, though, is it?" William asked. "Bluntly speaking."

Andrea blinked. "No need to worry?" he asked, not certain whether he'd heard right. "Wills, my uncle is approaching sixty and his wife isn't getting any younger either. Who do you think is the one who gets to deal with this entire mess once they decide they've had enough?" He raked a hand through his hair in an attempt to disperse the nervousness which flared up whenever he thought too much about this particular sword of Damocles hanging over his head. "It's not just Monaco's reputation that's been going down the drain in the last decade thanks to those two and their refusal to make the effort and counteract it all. The trashier the country looks, the worse the Grimaldis look, and we've been barely acceptable in royal circles to begin with. And without that acceptance, it's going to be almost impossible to repair the damage."

"You've got royal attendance for tonight's gala, though," Carl said.

"And that's a miracle in itself." Andrea ran his hands across his face, then fished for another cigarette in his shirt pocket to keep himself from gesturing wildly. "Most of the time nobody wants to speak to us, let alone accept invitations. It may not bother Uncle Albert, but it bothers _me_ , because I know I'm going to need these contacts and the support and I don't have them. And with every month it becomes worse."

The boat swayed as Carl got up from his seat and moved over to drop down by Andrea's side. "You've got our support," he said, his shoulder brushing against Andrea's. "Which may not count for much on the official side yet, but unofficially..."

"Unofficially it gives you connections to the British and Swedish courts," Wills picked up. "I can't offer you any more than that, my family hasn't been the most active in maintaining their connections either."

True, Andrea had to concede, though the Brits had never been snubbed for not being blue-blooded enough or for having dubious ancestry. Ironic when it came from some of the other royal houses around - being able to call yourself king or queen made up for a lot of dynastic black marks which a mere princely house apparently couldn't eradicate. Andrea was growing thoroughly tired for being punished for things assorted Grimaldi forefathers had done centuries ago.

"We might as well start our own network, the way this looks." Leaning against Carl just a little, Andrea stretched his legs as much as he could in the narrow confines of the boat, finding a spot for his feet between William's ankles. "We get snubbed, you more or less forgot that the continentals existed..."

"Great way to begin," Wills said dryly.

"But he has a point." Carl sounded thoughtful. "You might as well start co-operating, if nobody else wants to play nice with you."

"You play with us, though," Andrea couldn't resist saying.

Wills kicked his ankle, and Andrea innocently fluttered his eyelashes at him. "Remember that talk we had in your kitchen a few weeks ago?"

"The one where the two of you depleted enough vodka to tumble into bed together afterwards?" Carl asked mildly, his eyes on Wills. "You might as well call that a start and work from there. Just try not to rope the next members for your network into it the same way, I'd really like to be able to sleep in bed with my husband at night and not find random people there."

Andrea glanced at him. "Random, am I?"

Grinning, Carl reached up to ruffle his hair. "Of course not. But I'd still prefer it if you slept in Tatiana's bed."

"Well... Wills, don't take it the wrong way, but the same goes for me, actually."

Wills sighed. "Tragic," he said in a long-suffering tone that sent Carl chuckling. "But the idea is interesting. I'm not sure how much I can offer you in terms of official assistance, but I can probably get results in the royal circles more easily than you."

As though it were possible for it to be any harder to be able to ask for favours from these people while still being technically on the same social level, Andrea thought but didn't bother to say it out loud. Enough that it was something that caused trouble for him already. 

"You talk to crowned heads on my behalf, and for now I can offer you a chance to escape from the press and vanish off the radar on occasion," he said. It didn't seem much in comparison, until he remembered Carl's aversion towards anyone pointing cameras at him.

"And where do I fit into your little deal?" Carl asked. One last pat to Andrea's hair, then he moved back to William's side.

Wills gave him a quick once-over. "Eye candy," he said.

Andrea nodded in agreement. "We do need someone nice to look at."

"And in addition to that," Wills continued, "you _are_ the one among the three of us whose family actually maintains good relations to all the other royal houses, and you're a lot easier to ask for help than Vicky."

Carl looked dubious.

"We'll make it up to you," Andrea promised with a wink.

***

These days Andrea couldn't help feeling that he spent far too much time in circumstances which required him to wear suits. Raising his right hand, he carefully adjusted his bow tie, but without a mirror he could only guess whether he'd managed to straighten it or screw it up further.

"Leave that alone," Tatiana scolded, and he immediately dropped his hand. Her fingers came up to tug at the bow tie, then ran along the edge of his shirt collar in a cool touch. An appraising glance, a sharp nod and she let go of him again, only to perform the same operation on Carl, who appeared faintly alarmed at finding her literally at his throat.

"You may want to use glue for that," Wills suggested as he observed.

Tatiana gave the tie a pat to make it lie flat. "Usually it is enough if I tell Andrea not to mess it up again," she said. "So, Carl, you hear? Make sure this stays straight. At least until everybody's too drunk to notice."

Looking across the room from their corner, Andrea judged that it wouldn't take too long until the majority of the guests had reached that point. The official part of the gala was over already, the donations had been gathered, the photographers and journalists had been tossed out and now everybody was busy partying in earnest. Much to his relief, even the exalted royalty in attendance were having a good time. Theodora, cheerfully holding court by one of the drinks tables, hadn't been a real concern in that regard, but Crown Princess Mette-Marit looked well-entertained too, and even Guillaume appeared reasonably distracted from official duties, though that might have something to do with the way Amedeo kept sneaking touches _very_ low across his back.

"Nice party," Theodora's brother Philippos remarked as he strolled past. "Though for real insanity, it's missing Harry."

Carl tensed up in alarm. "Kissing Harry? Don't remind me of that, I've worked really hard on forgetting about that particular moment."

Andrea raised an eyebrow. "When did you kiss Harry?" he wanted to know, and watched as Carl drained his wine in one go.

"He kissed me," Carl corrected with a shudder.

"That doesn't sound as though he's a very good kisser," Tatiana observed. "But of course not everybody can be as good as Andrea."

They all gave him covert - and not so covert - looks at that. Andrea grinned back. "You heard the lady," he drawled.

"Don't take that as permission to rest on your laurels now." Tatiana pecked him on the cheek and used the moment of distraction to steal the whiskey tumbler from his hand. "Just because you kiss better than Harry doesn't mean that there aren't any other royals out there who can outmatch you. We ought to find out before passing a final verdict."

Andrea cocked his head. "Interesting idea, but who's going to judge?"

She gave his glass back, now considerably emptier than before. "You have to ask? As though I'd let anyone else have that sort of fun." She paused and studied Carl and Wills contemplatively. "You may have the gay ones, I'm not sure they'd give their best if they're faced with me."

Off she went before they could say anything, and within seconds had grabbed one of the attending Bourbons by the neck and was snogging the living daylights out of the man.

So much for presenting a dignified spectacle to royalty, Andrea thought. Then again, judging by their guest's amused reaction, perhaps it might have unexpected results.

He watched for a minute to be certain that she had everything well in hand before he returned his attention to Carl and Wills, who were observing the shenanigans with amused smiles on their faces.

"You're in the competition as well," he told them. "Carl is a known quantity, after all, even if it's been a while."

Carl just laughed, and Wills merely dignified that bit of teasing with a sardonically raise eyebrow as he sipped at his wine. "I expect you to give my husband full marks," he said.

Andrea pretended to consider. "I don't know, that bit of research _was_ quite a long time ago. I should try for more current results. Unless you'd be willing to provide them?"

"I'm not sure I'd know how to compare," Wills said dryly. "It's not like I've kissed any men other than Carl."

Which wasn't what Andrea had expected; he'd have been willing to bet that Wills had at least experimented.Open-minded, raised at all boys schools, a stint in the military... After all, starting a relationship with another man, especially one as high-profile as Carl, was hardly something you did on a whim when you had as many expectations riding on your heterosexuality as Wills. Love at first sight, enough to pick up a new orientation? Leave it to these two to manage to make coincidence and sheer bloody luck look downright romantic.

"Want to give it a try?" he offered with a wink. "Tatiana did say I'm a great kisser, so I think I can offer you an intriguing experience."

Wills' eyebrows shot up.

"I don't mind if you want to," Carl commented casually from behind his wine. "Tatiana has a point, you know."

Wills glanced at his husband, then at Andrea, visibly wavering until he gave a shrug. "Why not. Bring it on."

Andrea snorted with laughter. "I've seen better flirting," he teased. A quick exchange of looks with Carl, a minute nod of permission and he reached out to frame Wills' face in his hands.

He waited for a second or two and just held Wills' gaze in case he changed his mind after all. Then, when the other man didn't appear to be pulling away, he closed the distance between them and brushed his lips against Wills', gently for a moment to gauge his reaction before kissing him for real. He could see a flash of confusion in the blue eyes, then Wills closed them and returned the kiss for a second. A chuckle against Andrea's mouth which he felt rather than heard, then Wills withdrew again.

"Well?" Carl wanted to know, laughter audible in his voice.

"Not bad," Andrea told him, deliberately casual. "It shows that you two got in plenty of practice during your honeymoon." A few seconds might not be representative, but he thought he had the beginning of an idea why Carl had picked Wills. His character aside - which was nice enough - if that innocent little kiss had been any indication of other matters, then Carl had nothing to complain about. Good, very good, and under different circumstances, in another world, Andrea might have felt tempted to find out more.

As it was, he merely leaned towards Carl instead and gave him a friendly peck on the cheek. "Congratulations," he murmured. "I suggest you hang on to him."

"That's been the plan all along," Carl told him. "Don't look now, but Guillaume's been watching. I think he may be about to faint from shock."

Naturally, Andrea immediately turned around to seek out the Luxembourgian heir in the crowd, chuckling when he saw his stunned expression.

"Stay here," he said, unable to suppress a grin when he looked back to Wills and Carl and found them comfortably leaning together. "If he's confused right now, I've got to seize the opportunity and see whether I can't get him to say a reasonable word or two before he remembers to be all stuffy and aloof again."

Guillaume was indeed rattled enough by all the inexplicable kissing going on around him that he presented an easy target for once. Far too easy, really, with the result that Andrea even ended up throwing him a few reassuring crumbs so he wouldn't panic completely. Amedeo's presence helped - marginally - to keep him coherent, but it also seemed to send him wavering between protective indignation and bafflement at Habsburg antics. As if the fact that his pet archduke had had a girlfriend or two in the past and could be casual about it now was so completely unthinkable.

He behaved himself, though, much more than Andrea had come to expect of him. In his experience, Guillaume was unfailingly correct and well-mannered, but past encounters had left him cautious where their meetings were concerned. Andrea had no interest whatsoever to be on the receiving end of Guillaume's sharp tongue and frosty distance ever again when he didn't have the slightest idea what had prompted it. You had to leave it to Guillaume: delivering chill animosity with impeccable manners was an art form he had down pat.

This time, however, Andrea had to give him credit for sincerely trying not to be hostile, even if he couldn't entirely shake the stiff politeness which seemed to be his standard MO. He'd come to Monaco, he was attempting pleasant conversation - if not entirely succeeding - and Andrea almost had the impression that he was struggling to cope with a situation which wasn't completely comfortable for him when he could as well have left without repercussions.

"I really can't make sense of him," Andrea remarked a while later, lounging on one of the sofas with Wills. It was just the two of them; Carl was off to give Amedeo a few pointers on how to be a proper gay prince consort, and none of the other guests had joined them for now so they could talk almost privately.

Wills just shrugged. "It's Guillaume, I'm not sure he makes sense at the best of times. He takes himself far too seriously. All prim and proper, and I bet that when he runs into something which doesn't fit with his expectations and rules, he tries to make it go away."

Well, that was one explanation for the icy reactions Andrea had gotten from him.

"Makes me wonder how he survives Amedeo," he mused. "Those Habsburgs are poster children for not playing according to expectations. I don't know him that well, but he doesn't strike me as nice and compliant."

"No, but he's sneaky enough to get past Guillaume before he notices." Wills leaned forward to reach for his cocktail, had a sip, then set the glass down again on the low wooden table in front of them. "And from what Theodora says, stubborn enough not to let him get away with his bigger idiotic notions."

Andrea grinned. "Must have come as a surprise for Guillaume when he finally figured it out." He shook his head and slid down a little further into a more comfortable sprawl, not caring that his knees knocked against those of Wills. "Strange, I never thought he'd be so non-conformist. I'd have bet that he'd be a nice and proper future grand duke and find a nice and proper grand duchess to produce his nice and proper heir and spare."

"There's hope for him yet," Wills said, shifting in an attempt to find enough space for both of them. They ended up with their legs somewhat entangled in the narrow confines between table and sofa, but since the alternative would have been Andrea's legs across William's knees, neither bothered to complain. "He actually came to me to ask for support last year for the time when they'd make their relationship public, so he definitely knew what he was getting himself into."

And had still gone ahead with it. That took guts, Andrea had to credit him with that.

"I assume you didn't tell him that he was on his own?" he said, nudging William's ankle.

"No reason for that, even if Carl still isn't sure about him," Wills said. "But there are personal feelings and then there's the simple fact that those two are in the same situation we're in."

Andrea nodded. "Though I can't help noticing that they waited for you and Carl to be safely married before they took any official steps," he said wryly. "It's always easier to be the second to do something and not have to be pioneers."

There was a smile on William's face which looked suspiciously innocent. "We might have been the first to deal with the relationship side of things," he said. "But I wonder whether it's occurred to Guillaume yet that he's going to come into power first. If there are any specific complications to ruling together with another man, he'll be the one to find out."

"Sneaky," Andrea complimented him. "Being devious suits you."

Wills graciously waved his hand. "Hardly devious. But I wonder if we shouldn't extend our little network a little further."

Andrea stretched to snatch up his whiskey. "With these two?" he asked, toying with the glass and sending the ice cubes clinking.

"Guillaume already is heir and first in line to his father's throne, and Amedeo isn't someone to be underestimated either." Wills sounded very reasonable, and not as though this was something that had just occurred to him. "And right now they're in a position where they can hardly refuse an offer of assistance, even if it comes with strings attached."

Andrea frowned. "We're talking about Guillaume," he pointed out thoughtfully. "I'm not sure he'll get the idea."

"If he doesn't, Amedeo probably will."

"Machiavellian Habsburg conditioning," Andrea had to agree. "It's probably genetic, together with the mild insanity."

Wills shot him a skewed look. "He seems nice enough."

Andrea waved off. "He's not that bad," he said, sitting up when he spotted Carl coming back inside from the terrace, Amedeo in tow. "And look, he's brought back your husband, too."

"In one piece, I hope," Wills grumbled as he pushed himself upright, then got to his feet. "We'd better talk to him and Guillaume."

But not right now, Andrea figured after a quick look across the room. The remaining guests here weren't of the sort who made him fear for his privacy, but this wasn't the right place for that sort of conspiracy.

"I'll invite them for lunch tomorrow, shall I?" he suggested and worked on getting himself into a more or less vertical position, achieved when Wills reached out to offer a hand. "Then we can see whether they want to play with us."

Wills patted his upper arm absently, his eyes already on Carl. "They'd be idiots not to."

***  
 _January 2015_  
***

"Is there any chance either of you is planning a coup in the coming year?" Pierre wanted to know as he unfolded his napkin and placed it in his lap.

Dinner with his family, Andrea thought as he hid a smirk behind a bite of baguette, never failed to be interesting. His mirth faded quickly, however, when he noticed that their mother looked less amused and more intrigued.

"Are you?" he asked.

She met his eyes. "Not acutely." Which really was not as reassuring as it could have been, considering that if she harboured any plans of that sort, he likely played a crucial role even if she was nominally ahead of him in the line of succession.

"You aren't really thinking about deposing Uncle Albert, are you?" he asked warily.

His mother merely picked up her fork and knife and gave him a faint little smile which made him wonder whether he actually wanted to know more.

Andrea had never had the impression that she had resented the Grimaldi house law - doubling as a large part of Monaco's constitution - which placed her younger brother ahead of her in the succession. That was simply a fact of life and one, Andrea felt, his mother was quite content with. 

What met with her intense disapproval was what her brother did with his influence and power. Or rather, what he didn't do, since Albert mostly seemed to govern according to the idea that a principality which had survived for the past eight hundred years didn't need him to supervise every little moment. Which meant that he could spend most of his time out of the country and the political leaders of the council didn't have to worry about his interference. And that, in turn, meant that Monaco was currently ruled to cater to their interests and not to the interests of the country as a whole, and that the citizens were beginning to murmur audibly. Never good when you were part of the ruling family, even though they didn't have to worry for their head these days.

He hand a sip of water, then turned to Pierre. "Why do you want to know, anyway?"

"I just need to make a few business decisions," Pierre said after a mouthful of pasta. Comfort food for all of them, a relic of their quiet years in Saint-Rémy and still a fixture whenever they all found the time for a meal together and someone was in the mood to cook. Only Charlotte was missing, but with her busy show jumping schedule it was rare to get her off the back of her horse and to Monaco these days. "I can postpone them for a few years, but if neither of you has any plans to ever sit on that throne, better tell me now."

"What sort of decisions?" They'd made a clear division years ago; Andrea, as the eldest (and potential heir, though the likeliness of that had waxed and waned over the years) dealt with official matters and the political facets of having a Princess of Monaco as their mother, while Pierre handled the business side of things, a more than full-time job in itself considering the businesses in question.

Pierre shrugged. "If I were strictly reasonable, I'd pull all our investments out of Monaco. But if you plan on taking over in a few years, that wouldn't be all that smart since it would probably break your neck." He speared an olive with his fork and studied it thoughtfully. "So if you're plotting something, I suggest you do it sooner rather than later. Otherwise I'm going to have to come up with creative reasoning why I'm throwing company money into a bottomless pit. And it's not even a pretty bottomless pit but looking uglier by the minute."

Their mother refilled their wine glasses. "Albert isn't saying anything so far as to whether he thinks about retiring," she said. "We'll have to wait and see. But Pierre, if you can, don't make any permanent decisions yet."

His brother nodded agreeably. "I'll blame it on family eccentricities if I have to," he said before devoting his attention to the plate in front of him again.

Wait and see, Andrea thought with an inward sigh as he picked up his fork and started to eat. Whichever way this turned out, he had the feeling that it wasn't going to make his life any easier.

***

"Is something wrong?" Tatiana asked him later that evening, after he'd collected her from the airport when she'd returned from one of her trips with her friends. Reykjavik this time, which made him glad he'd been unable to come along even though it had meant yet another week without her.

He merely shook his head and tucked the sheets more tightly around them as he curled himself around her. Iceland. In winter. The mere idea made him shiver and want to burrow down and not surface again until spring. A tempting thought anyway, now that he finally had her back.

Tatiana brought up a hand and began to pet his hair, occasionally tugging at the short strands. He'd given up on figuring out whether that was because it was too short or too long for her taste, or whether it was just teasing. 

"Missed you," he murmured against the soft skin of her neck.

Her hand stilled momentarily before resuming its motions. "You should have come," she said. "You could have shared all the fun."

"And the snow, and the ice, and the arctic temperatures," he protested.

She chuckled. "There are hot springs and they've even discovered central heating, if you can believe it."

"Rumours, nothing more." He sighed quietly and slid his arm around her waist to draw her close. They'd shared a proper welcome earlier, but he was still loath to let go of her while he didn't have to. "My mother is worrying me."

"What is she up to this time?" Tatiana asked. "New additives to your aunt's breakfast?"

"Hopefully not." Though it would go well with the family history, there was no denying that. Traditions had an odd way of repeating themselves. "No, but I think she's beginning to seriously think about a change in government." And if his mother had plans of that sort, there was a good chance she'd be able to pull it off. That she had more support among the population than his uncle was undeniable, and what counted even more, his uncle was scared enough of his older sister that persistent glowering at him might get him to yield up his spot on the throne.

Tatiana hummed thoughtfully. "Which means Prince Andrea, I assume."

He raised his head to look at her. "Possibly," he said with a crooked smile he didn't really feel. "Will you still like me if that happens?"

It was a small but persistent concern in his mind; he knew that she wasn't with him for the possibility that he might make her the Princess of Monaco one day. It simply wasn't necessary for her, not when she moved in their social circles under her own power and had done so for years. The concern was rather that she wouldn't want to bother with the restrictions that came with such a title, and if it ended up a decision between her and the throne, he was not certain he'd have the sense of duty his royal peers felt where these matters were concerned.

She frowned in mock scepticism. "As long as I don't have to curtsey to you and call you Highness," she said, tapping her finger lightly against his nose.

"The idea does have a certain appeal, I have to admit," he teased.

A second later he found himself flat on his back and Tatiana was looking down at him, delicate eyebrows quirked. "Does it, Your Highness?"

"Your Serene Highness," he corrected, gasping when her knee dug against his side and left him momentarily breathless.

"Well, Your _Serene_ Highness," she told him, tightening her grip on his shoulders, "if you want me to like you, I suggest you'd better be nice to me."

Andrea looked up at her. "Nice?" he asked, his hands coming up to settle at her waist and help her keep her balance.

"Nice."

***

Two weeks later, he was busy kissing Tatiana goodbye in the transit area at Heathrow. New York this time, the birthday party of one of her friends, and Andrea had scrambled to find an appointment elsewhere once he'd figured out that it was the female core of their circle of acquaintances who'd be assembled there, with very little male attendance. He liked the girls, but when they travelled in packs, he preferred not to be the lone man in the middle.

"You will be good?" Tatiana asked, her hand cupping his cheek as she studied him.

Andrea shot her an innocent smile. "Of course I'll be good. As though I'll get into any trouble with Carl and Wills."

She didn't even bother to hide her laugh. "Try not to cause too much trouble, will you?" she requested, then leaned in to kiss him before he could reply, his mouth occupied with more important matters.

Eventually he had to let go of her and escort her to the gate for her onwards flight. A quiet sigh on his lips, he watched as she boarded the plane and reminded himself that it was only four days this time and that he wouldn't be spending them alone either. He waited until she was out of sight before he picked up his travel bag and headed for the border checks, still wavering whether he shouldn't have accompanied her after all.

That faint sense of temporary abandonment faded once he stepped through the gates into the arrivals hall, where he was immediately whisked away by a menacingly professional-looking man in one of those black suits which made up the ubiquitous fashion of security personnel. A minute later, after a brisk walk along underground tunnels and roped-off corridors and into what looked like a non-public parking lot, he broke into a grin when he spotted a certain Swedish prince.

"Decided you couldn't wait to see me?" he drawled.

Carl snapped around, the smile on his face mirroring Andrea's. "Tatiana was adamant that I'm supposed to keep you out of trouble," he said, coming forward to catch him in a tight embrace.

Andrea cheerfully snuggled close and delivered a round of friendly kisses to complete their greeting, not caring what the security guards had to think of that. Hugging Carl always felt good, even disregarding their history together; it was simply a matter of him fitting so very nicely into Andrea's arms. Almost better than the slightly taller Tatiana, though Andrea would never make that particular observation aloud.

"Come on, let's go," Carl told him eventually and took half a step backwards, though he kept his hands on Andrea's upper arms to maintain their contact. "Wills is off to Brighton, he has to be royalty for the day, but he'll catch up with us later."

"And you escaped?" Andrea asked as he slipped into the armoured car, mildly surprised to find Carl joining him in the back. He hadn't thought he warranted a foregone opportunity to do some driving.

"Someone had to come and collect you. It's not like we can make you take public transport back to London, someone might steal you on the way and then how do we explain that to Tatiana?" Carl cast a wistful look at the steering wheel, now in the hands of one of the two security officers. "I wasn't officially available, so I wasn't invited. The palace offices are still rationing my presence."

Wise move, Andrea thought. They probably had figured out by now that Carl was far from enthusiastic about public appearances and that he put up with it because it was the price to pay for a life with Wills. Better leave him alone when it came to minor matters Wills could do by himself.

An hour later they pulled up in front of Clarence House, and Andrea did his best not to let the handful of stationary paparazzi get a good shot at him as they went up the steps to the main entrance. He thought he'd been reasonably successful, enough at least to make them work for their money to identify him. Once inside, he looked around curiously; it was always interesting to see how others coped with living in what amounted to an inhabitable museum. Clarence House didn't seem quite as bad as the Palais Princier in Monaco was; that one still had wiring from the 1920s and some of the wings suffered from thoroughly baroque plumbing. In comparison, this looked almost modern. It still had the atmosphere of an official reception area, however - an abundance of representative cherry wood furniture, oil paintings on the walls, and hardy carpets which swallowed the sound of steps.

One floor further up the furnishings eased up slightly; there still were collectibles and antiques everywhere, but they had a marginally more useful look. The next floor again was different and for the first time felt like normal people might be living there; Andrea spotted muddy child-sized boots in front of one of the ornate double wing doors, and while the furniture still was expensive, it was clearly being used.

"Harry and Alex live here," Carl told him as they moved across the landing to the next flight of stairs. "They're not home, though, they're out at Windsor for the weekend now that the weather's warming up and-"

"Carl Philip," they were interrupted by a stern-sounding voice, and a moment later Andrea found himself face-to-face with the Prince of Wales for the first time, looking exactly as he did in all the photographs and just as distant. "I expected you to be present."

Carl looked tense at a sudden, and Andrea could hear the caution in his voice when he spoke. "I went to collect our guest. If I may present, Sir, this is Andrea Casiraghi, the son of Princess Caroline of Monaco. Andrea, this is His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales."

Unusually formal for Carl, so Andrea took the hint and executed a perfectly measured bow. "Your Royal Highness," he murmured, but was summarily ignored when Wills' father focused on Carl almost immediately.

"You have taken care that the press has not seen your _friend_ , have you, Carl Philip?" Charles asked, kind tone at odds with his disapproving expression. "It would be very inconvenient if any of these people jumped to the wrong conclusions."

It took a second for Andrea to figure out what this about, but when he did he had to bite his tongue to keep from interfering.

"And which conclusion would that be?" Carl asked, his voice deceptively demure. "Andrea is a friend of William and myself, that is the only conclusion to be drawn."

Charles shook his head. "Let us hope that it is so and that nobody thinks of something less innocent. Any rumours of that nature would be highly regrettable." He turned and headed downstairs without another word, and without so much as another look in Andrea's direction. Which was all for the best, because Andrea did not fancy being the centre of that man's scrutiny.

At his side, Carl took a deep breath once Charles was out of sight. "Come on, one floor further up," he said quietly and led the way. He didn't say anything else until they were in the entrance hall of what presumably was the apartment he shared with Wills, the door safely shut behind them. "Sorry for that."

Andrea reached out to pat his shoulder in consolation, still a little uneasy himself at the encounter. "Hardly your fault," he offered.

"I wish someone would find a way to get that into his skull." Carl toed off his shoes and shoved them into a corner where a few other pairs were already waiting.

"He hasn't warmed up yet to having you as a son-in-law?" Andrea asked as he followed suit. In a way he could see that someone in a position like Charles was might prefer for his son to follow the traditional routes where family life was concerned, but this hardly was the age of arranged marriages anymore. "What was Wills supposed to do, find a placating, simpering blue-blooded girl and tell her to lie back and think of England?"

"Because that worked so well with this family," Carl muttered as he fiddled with his coat buttons. "It's not even so much that I'm not a woman, though that plays a role as well. Mostly it's because we're getting more attention than him, and he doesn't like that one bit." He shrugged out of his coat and put it on a hanger on the clothes rack, then offered a second one to Andrea. "As if we care for that."

"Of course you don't, nobody in their right mind does." It was a constellation Andrea recognised only too well. Albert was hardly different in that regard, though he tended more towards attempting to harness Andrea and his siblings for his own purposes where their lure for the media was concerned, whether they wanted or not.

The joys of being born into a ruling family. Every step you took was suspected to be politically motivated.

Lightly swinging his bag, he tried to change the topic to something more innocent for a moment. "Where do I put this?"

A few minutes later he'd been shown into the guest room and given a quick tour of the apartment - smaller than he'd expected given the inhabitants, they were even sharing a study - and was now settled on the sofa by Carl's side.

"Tatiana sends her love," he said, nudging Carl's ankle with his own. "And I'm supposed to remind you that you owe her a visit and that she owns you for an afternoon."

Carl chuckled, his mood considerably lighter again already. "Oh yes. That."

"What, that?" When no explanation was forthcoming, he kicked Carl's ankle again. "Conspiring with my girlfriend, are you?"

"Would I tell you if I were?" Carl asked. "Besides, do you really think I'm foolish enough to say no to that woman? You know her better than I do, you tell me whether you'd dare."

"Well, if you put it like that..." Andrea conceded, but wasn't quite ready to give up on the mystery. Carl and Tatiana, plotting something? That promised to either turn out very interesting or very frightening. Possibly both.

He spent the next hour trying to coax the secret out of Carl, without any success. At least not where the matter at hand was concerned; where he did succeed was in drawing Carl away from thoughts of their earlier encounter with his father-in-law.

"I'm going to have to come up with different means of persuasion," he concluded eventually. "Possibly kidnap you, find ways to make you talk..."

Carl cocked his head. "You know, you are very, very lucky that Wills and I are still sweeping the apartment for bugs on a regular basis, or tomorrow's newspaper headlines would really be interesting."

"As though I'd really kidnap you," Andrea waved off.

"You sent me handcuffs. I _could_ interpret that as a threat."

Andrea sighed and reached behind himself to bunch up the scatter cushions he'd gathered. "That wasn't a threat, that was a... let's call it a suggestion." He smirked and settled into his accustomed comfortable sprawl. "For you and Wills, before you get any ideas."

He was treated to an amused glance, complete with quirked eyebrows. "People might take it the wrong way if they hear that you're sending us bondage toys."

"I can go for something else next time if that isn't your thing," Andrea offered with a smirk. "I assume you two can't exactly go out and shop for that sort of stuff without anyone remarking upon it."

It took only a second for the look of interest in Carl's face to vanish again behind a carefully schooled neutral mien, but it was more than long enough for Andrea to notice and give him a knowing smile in turn.

"Best open your mail in person from now on," he suggested, yelping when the next kick from Carl connected a little more firmly. He twisted away, accidentally knocked his knee against Carl's and earned a companionable shove in retaliation.

Their little tussle was just getting fun when the sound of someone clearing their throat behind them made them both freeze.

"You're really lucky it's me and not my father," Wills observed from above.

Carl looked up at him. "Your father knocks," he said, and added, "fortunately." A last friendly swat to Andrea's arm and he sat up again, straightening his shirt collar.

"Hi Wills," Andrea greeted him cheerfully and struggled into a more or less upright position as well. "Thanks for rescuing me."

Wills looked down at the two of them, rolled his eyes and reached down to briefly tousle Andrea's hair before bending to claim Carl's mouth in a quick kiss. "What exactly were you two up to?" he asked.

The two of them exchanged a quick glance. "Oh, nothing in particular," Carl said.

Andrea nodded in agreement. "Perfectly harmless."

***  
 _March 2015_  
***

Another press-ganging by his uncle, another evening wasted by standing around in an uncomfortable suit while wearing uncomfortable shoes and listening to sleazy middle-aged men and their attempts to draft him for their projects, neither entirely ethical nor legal.

Andrea sighed inwardly and drained the last of his red grape juice. He didn't even dare to drink any actual wine for fear of having anyone taking advantage of a perceived vulnerability due to intoxication. Whatever this here was, it wasn't the meeting of the three governmental councils Andrea had been told about. Nominally it might be, and the members of Conseil National, Conseil d'Etat and Conseil de la Couronne were all present and accounted for. There was no overt purpose to it all, however. Monaco was small enough that these people saw each other on an almost daily basis, there was no real need for a gathering like this. Which meant there had to be other motives for organising all this, and Andrea just hoped it wasn't to provide someone with an alibi.

Yet another reason to stay sober and alert.

"Ah, Monsieur Casiraghi, how good to see you!" Once again one of the council members swooped in for a bit of small talk, and Andrea politely went along with it until the topic started to slowly and, he suspected, not entirely incidentally, to turn towards his brother. People were beginning to gradually realise exactly what sort of power Pierre had been wielding for years now, and whoever figured it out tended to make a mad scramble to get on his good side. On his own, they'd have been happy to ignore him, but they could hardly ignore that Andrea's little brother essentially owned majority stakes in most of Monaco's economy. For some reason it confused people, especially once they learned - by trial and error - that Pierre wasn't susceptible to influences outside his immediate family and that Andrea had no interest whatsoever in telling his brother what to do.

Besides, it was far too entertaining to see all these government flunkies flustered that something was out of their control. As far as Andrea was concerned, that was only for the best. He'd seen those vultures in action, and he had no intention to see the family inheritance squandered.

"You should mingle more," his uncle reprimanded him eventually.

Andrea, who'd just contemplated escaping through the window, put on a pleasant smile. "My apologies," he said. "But I am a little tired, after all I only arrived from New York this morning and haven't really had time to rest. Not that I am not grateful that you could manage an invitation for me on such short notice."

He watched as his uncle went over that, and waited whether he'd get the hint or not.

"You are part of the princely family, it's your duty to be here. Your _privilege_ , actually."

No, that hint apparently had sailed right above his uncle's head. "Of course. Though it's a pity I had to miss the charity polo game of the English princes. That could have made for good publicity."

Which he didn't care about all that much, but he knew Albert did. Publicity was everything now that Monaco was tethering on the brink of yet another crisis. Publicity would bring salvation in the form of tourists and their well-filled shopping bags. Publicity, in short, was what Albert felt guaranteed the stability of his rule. And now that the media were all but ignoring him and his wife except for reporting on the occasional scandal - and not even that interested anyone anymore - Andrea had been discovered as the next potential saviour.

His uncle briefly contemplated the loss of British media coverage, then waved off. "You can play with them some other time," he said dismissively. "This is important tonight."

"Is it?" Andrea wanted to know. "How?"

Albert opened his mouth to reply, closed it again, then shook his head. "You wouldn't understand, boy," he said.

Which was true, he really didn't understand why he was here instead of in London to attend a high-profile fundraiser staged by Wills and Harry. London would have made sense, this here was a mystery, and not even a good one.

At least Pierre had been able to go and seize the opportunity. He wasn't too close yet to the young royals who were in attendance there, with the exception of Prince Félix of Luxembourg (an odd turn of events that those two had become friends, when Guillaume still proceeded with caution where all things Casiraghi were concerned). It would be useful for him to build his own connections, and Andrea had no doubt that Wills and Carl would take good care of him.

Somewhat to Andrea's surprise the evening came to a close without any major scandals surfacing. He'd half expected an arrest, or possibly a fist-fight to break out; the only remaining viable option was that someone had either been visited by burglars or had bugs installed in their office while they were forced to attend here.

He resolved to put that bug scanner Wills had given him as a joke to good use as soon as he came home.

"You don't look as though you even remotely enjoyed yourself," were the first words out of Tatiana's mouth when he came through the door.

Andrea fiddled with his bow tie, but the irritating little nuisance resisted his efforts to get rid of it. "Probably because I didn't," he muttered.

Stepping up to him, Tatiana batted his hands away and carefully undid the tie, along with the top buttons of his shirt that kept his collar properly closed. "Then refuse to go, next time something so pointless comes up," she said, punctuating her suggestion with a kiss to the dip of his throat.

"I wish it were that simple." He buried his face in her hair for a moment, focusing on the mingled scent of perfume, shampoo and, for some reason possibly to do with Carl's visit last week, turpentine - and letting it ease his tension.

"It _is_ that simple," Tatiana insisted as she held him close, her hand soothingly running up and down his spine. "Just say no."

Andrea pulled back just far enough to look into her eyes. "I can't. Albert-"

"Is a fool who takes you for granted," she interrupted him. "I know you need to present a good picture for the time when you'll take over, and I know you don't want to let anyone down. But there are genuinely important appointments and then there is getting slightly drunk with politicians for no actual purpose." She paused. "Or was there a reason for tonight after all?"

He had to shake his head.

"Then you see my point. Skip the latter, they just make you irritated and you aren't of any use in those cases." She paused, and there was a glint in her eyes he couldn't quite interpret. "Perhaps you feel like you owe your uncle. I don't."

Before he could make sense of that statement, she'd pulled away from him and dug out his cell phone from the inside pocket of his dress coat. Frowning, he watched as she scrolled through the menus and triumphantly raised the phone to her ear.

"No, this isn't Andrea, this is Tatiana," she said as the call connected, the sort of smirk on her face which always left Andrea faintly concerned. "Yes, I am aware that you are the Prince of Monaco and that you are busy, but you will listen to me for a minute."

There was an unspoken 'or else' attached to that sentence, and Andrea had no doubt that his uncle was well aware of the implied command.

"I only want to know whether you are planning to force Andrea to attend any more useless events like tonight," she continued sweetly, smiling while she paused to listen. "Because it steals his time and he has better things to do, that's why." Another pause, and a frown hushed across her face. "We don't object to anything which has a point and purpose. But if he has to attend another function like the one tonight, I'm taking him to South America with me and you can see where you find a new attraction for the media." The frown eased, and Andrea could only blink in stunned fascination as he listened to her. "I am entirely serious. You are welcome to try me." The sweet smile gradually returned. "I knew you would see reason. Just try to remember it."

With that she put the phone down and slid it back into his pocket, the sweet smile now one of absolute satisfaction.

"You realise that you just declared war on him, right?" Andrea asked, wavering between the urge to applaud her and the need to hide in a corner until he knew what his mother would have to say about all this. She usually insisted that he cater to Albert's ideas, at least the legal and not too dubious ones.

Tatiana raised an eyebrow. "As though he'll dare to cross me. You!" She poked his chest with a finger. "You belong to me. He'd better remember that he needs permission before he gets to abuse you."

He blinked at her. "I belong to you?" he wanted to know, smiling when her arms would about his neck to pull him close.

"Of course you do. Don't tell me you hadn't noticed." A kiss to his temple, then to the spot between his eyes, the tip of his nose before her lips found his and he lost all will to argue the point. "Mine," she murmured against his mouth, "and anyone who wants to irritate you had better be aware that they've got to get through me first."

He had to kiss her again for such a simple affirmation of reassurance, delivered so matter-of-factly when it wasn't something he'd ever take for granted. "Thank you," he told her quietly, his hands coming to rest on her hips to draw her against him, happy to feel her warmth even through their clothes.

A light nip to his bottom lip, then she leaned back just far enough for them to look at each other. "No need to thank me," she countered, the corner of her mouth curling with that familiar half-smile he adored. "Though I won't say no if you happen to feel like you need to make it up to me."

"Never let it be said that I can't take a hint." A kiss, this time with a lot more intent to it than before, followed by another and one more, and by the time they'd found their way to bed together, her insistent whispers and breathless sighs were all the hints he'd ever need.

He didn't want to ever miss this, Andrea thought, his full attention on even the smallest move she made, the tiniest sound. Not just the rush of feeling her heat against his skin, but the simple knowledge that she was here with him and that she'd always come back.

"How long are you staying this time?" he asked a while later, his head pillowed on her soft belly, her scent all around him, intermingled with the sharp smell of soap from their shower.

Her hand came to settle at the nape of his neck, not petting, merely a solid point of contact. "I haven't made any plans yet. Until the ball season is over, until spring... until I'm sure you've got someone to watch your back so nothing happens to you."

He brushed his lips against the curve of her breast and felt her hand tighten its hold in response. "You don't have to guard me. I'm fairly sure nobody's planning any assaults on my life." If only because he was far more useful when stuffed into a suit and brushed into a presentable state.

Tatiana caught his gaze in response and held it until he had to look away. "You need to be, _we_ need to be careful," she said, and he knew she was thinking of those harder, difficult years they'd had, time he wasn't proud of and didn't want repeated.

"We will be," he told her, pushing up to curl himself around her, his arms folding across her belly as he tucked her close. "After all," he whispered in her ear, "who's to stop us?"

He felt and heard her chuckle. "Keep that attitude, you might just need it."

***  
 _May 2015_  
***

As royal weddings went, this one was the scariest by far, simply due to the guest list. When one of the happy couple was a Habsburg, the archduchesses and archdukes were out in full force, and by the tenth introduction to a member of that illustriously imperial and royal house, Andrea resolved to stick to Carl and Wills before something untoward happened to him.

Habsburgs. You never knew what sort of ideas they might get.

Or, even worse, you found out exactly which ideas they had and where you figured in them.

"We ought to meet in the next few days," Amedeo's cousin - and Guillaume's as well, somehow, thanks to permanent royal intermarriage - was telling him, a predatory expression in her pretty eyes. "It is _so_ much fun talking to you."

Not a sentiment he could reciprocate, but he couldn't figure a polite or sarcastic way of telling her. A Habsburg on the prowl for a husband. Andrea fought the desperate urge to flee.

"And you must tell me more about Monaco. How very good of your uncle to send you in his stead, you're much nicer to look at." That was said with a deceptively innocent wink, and Andrea was almost tempted to tell the truth.

On the other hand, there was no knowing how she'd react if he explained that his uncle wasn't here thanks to a lot of diplomacy and some very intricate phrasing in the invitation. His aunt-by-marriage had thrown a hissy fit when she'd managed to work out that she wasn't welcome, officially because she was a commoner with a questionable background and too many rumours of affairs, which was an offence against delicate archducal sensibilities. Unofficially, as Amedeo had put it, nobody wanted to have to deal with more insane and tactless guests than they already had to, and they already couldn't avoid Crown Princess Mary and the whole bunch of Savoys. Of course his uncle hadn't been permitted to attend by himself for fear of putting even more strain on that marriage, so Andrea had been recruited. For once, he didn't mind.

At least he hadn't minded until he'd figured out that the number of Habsburgs in attendance would be far beyond what he deemed safe.

Amedeo's cousin now had her hand on his lower arm, perfectly innocent, and he was straining to find a tactful way of telling her that he was in a committed relationship. Though she might already know that and simply ignore that fact.

"Olympia, sorry to interrupt," a voice came from behind them, and a second later a blond young man whom Andrea had seen with both the Belgian and the Luxembourg side in the past hour subtly moved between the two of them to outmaneuvre her. "Your mother is looking for you, she wants to introduce you to one of the Lignes."

It was amazing how quickly Andrea was abandoned in favour of a better option.

"Should I be relieved or insulted that she dumps me like that?" he asked.

The man smirked at him. "Relieved, trust me on that." He held out his hand. "Joachim. Brother of the groom."

"Andrea." Shaking the offered hand, he frowned. "Which groom?"

"Of course, you wouldn't know to keep all of us straight. Amedeo's."

Yet another Habsburg, though this one seemed almost normal. "Nice to meet you. And thanks for the rescue."

Joachim waved off. "Anytime. I was actually looking for you, Alexandra - Guillaume's sister, that is, not Harry's dragon tamer - wants to know whether you remembered to bring the sex toys."

Habsburg. Normalcy. Andrea really ought to have remembered that those two didn't go together.

An hour later, he had sneaked away from the wedding with a handful of co-conspirators in order to leave a more personal surprise for the happy couple than the official gifts. Personally, Andrea felt that the whips and some of the leather gear probably overdid it a little, but the visual effect was simply too appealing to skip the stuff. Guillaume's bedroom was beginning to look like a cross between a stable's tack room and a harem chamber.

"You got them the fruity stuff?" Wills asked as he unearthed a bottle of lube from one of the bags Andrea had brought. "That didn't come out of our share, did it?"

Andrea glanced up from his artistically arranged coils of rope. "Worried you'll hit a dry spell?" he asked, eyebrows quirked. "If it reassures you, I can pack some extra for you next time."

"Not the strawberry fruity," Wills told him decisively. "That stuff you can give to Guillaume."

The packages of sex toys had started out as a joke soon after Wills and Carl had visited him in Monaco for the first time, and Andrea had followed up on his half-serious promise to send them something to spice up their marital life. When Carl's reaction had been a little too genuinely cheerful to be mere polite gratitude, though, Andrea had taken the hint and by now it had turned into a quasi-monthly tradition, with the added challenge of finding something new every time. He suspected it was easier for those two to have him as a supplier than ask the maids to put lube and flavoured condoms on the shopping list.

Andrea scattered a few pairs of handcuffs across the bedspread. "Not to your taste? Well, I'm sure I can come up with something else." He picked up one of the cuffs and checked the safety switch. "Want me to pack some other stuff, too? See anything you like?"

Wills just shot him a sceptical look before focusing his attention on untangling a heap of silk scarves.

"Well, if that doesn't look nice already," Joachim observed from the bathroom door. "Hey, do you have any more condoms? Alexandra and I are running out and it's just starting to be fun."

Andrea exchanged a look with Wills. "Habsburgs," he muttered.

"I've heard people say 'Grimaldis' with exactly the same tone," Wills commented, clearly amused. "Go get them some more condoms and let's finish up here before anyone notices that we've disappeared."

They managed to finish up with all their pranks soon afterwards: the decorative toys, the teasing posters with everyone's signature (collected during the pre-wedding party from all those who could be counted as friends or at least benevolent acquaintances of Guillaume and Amedeo), the bathtub full of jelly and condoms with the room keys hidden inbetween... Surveying their handiwork, Andrea wondered what they'd do to whoever was the next to marry, because this simply had to be repeated.

"Mission accomplished?" Madeleine wanted to know once they had sneaked back into the Grand Ducal Palace and rejoined the party.

Andrea nodded. "Just as planned," he confirmed with a smirk. "Did anyone notice that we were gone?"

She shook her head, a strand of blond hair working free from her careful coiffure. "Everybody's been too distracted by Guillaume and Amedeo so far. You did miss Mary-"

"Crown Princess Mary," Andrea corrected sternly.

Madde just snorted. "Of course. Crown Princess Mary threw a quiet hissy fit because she thought that Carl ignored her on purpose, but it's hardly his fault if he can't make heads or tails of what she thinks is her perfect command of the Danish language. That's kept everyone amused so far."

Andrea glanced across the room to where the Danish Crown Princess was muttering furiously to her husband, who was looking cheerfully inebriated by now. A few steps further to the left he spotted another irritated face, this time of Amedeo's mother.

"What is it with Princess Astrid?" he asked, thinking of the odd conversation with Guillaume and Amedeo they'd had earlier in the afternoon. Something was going on there, that much was obvious.

Madeleine sighed, her face turning serious. "She's not happy at all that her precious firstborn just married another man. Believe it or not, but the fact that she's here to glower at him in person is actually an improvement over the past months already."

They'd retreated into one of the corners as they spoke, and Andrea glanced about for listeners before he returned his attention to Madeleine. "That bad? I noticed he wasn't exactly cheerful when he came back from talking to her, but..."

"Believe me, she is emphatically not in favour of gay princes, so better don't mention anything about your exploits aside from Tatiana or she'll immediately snub you." Madeleine's frown was deepening, and Andrea wondered whether she'd ever clashed with Astrid over this. Carl was her brother, after all, and Madeleine was highly protective of him at the best of times. "I don't think she's as bad as Charles, but from what Mathilde says, the atmosphere in Laeken hasn't exactly been relaxed ever since Amedeo dropped that proverbial bomb on her."

And not even Habsburg eccentricities could make up for such a breach of tradition. In a way, Andrea could understand why Astrid or Charles disapproved of their children's choices, but on the other hand, what did they expect? There were plenty of examples around as to why arranged or dutiful marriages weren't a smart option.

One benefit of being from a scandalous house nobody wanted to have too much to do with: Andrea wasn't expected to marry for money, lands and title, and the Grimaldi house law knew no requirements of the intended spouse save for a suggestion that a Catholic would be a good idea. After the mess his uncle had made of his own wedding, Andrea could probably announce his intentions to marry a horse and have realistic hopes of getting away with it.

"Anything we can do?" he asked, watching as Guillaume was swept across the floor by Mette-Marit, who seemed determined not to let go of him. The assembled crown princesses had been thorough when it came to dancing with him and Amedeo today; a concerted show of support for which even Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Mary of Denmark, centre of the universe, had been drafted (though she probably wasn't aware of it).

Madeleine shot him a sideways glance. "Let them have a getaway point if they need one," she said. "And I don't just mean Guillaume and Amedeo." A quick look at the dancing couples, then she held out her hand to him. "Care for a spin?"

Smiling, Andrea accepted her hand and bent over it for a picture-perfect kiss. "As the lady wishes."

It was well past midnight by the time the party wound to a close, though the younger guests were merely beginning to make arrangements for continuing their get-together elsewhere. These occasions were too rare not to make the most of them, after all, but most guests agreed that it was just nice and polite to let the newlyweds actually have some fun by themselves rather than force them to stay while the party carried on.

"Keep in mind that this time I don't want to drag your sorry arse back to bed," Theodora told him, about to follow Madeleine, Mette-Marit and Maxima to the club they'd chosen for their continued entertainment. Andrea just hoped that Luxembourg would be capable to withstand the terrors caused by a quartet of Scandinavian princesses on the prowl. It was such a nice and unsuspecting country. "You'll catch up with us?"

"Once I've found Wills and Carl, they've disappeared somewhere." And since he had certain suspicions what they might be up to, he figured it wouldn't be wise to recruit anyone else for the search. Those two weren't good at keeping their hands off each other at the best of times, and weddings tended to be rather inspiring in that regard. He'd heard stories about Harry's wedding and laundry closets that were far too creative not to be true.

He was lucky, though; he'd just been about to start to look for them in earnest when they appeared, herding Guillaume and Amedeo towards the doors.

"Just give me a second," Guillaume was saying. He still looked all prim and proper, as though he hadn't just spent more than a few hours celebrating. By his side, Amedeo was appropriately ruffled by now, uniform coat slung haphazardly over his arm, shirt unbuttoned and hair on end. "I should go and get a few things from my office before we leave."

"Oh... don't bother," Wills told him, thoroughly amused. "Do I have to remind you that it's your wedding and that you should be occupied with other ideas?"

"Listen to the man, he knows what he's talking about." Amedeo leaned in to kiss his husband in a thorough attempt to prove William's point.

"Yes, but..."

"Guillaume," Wills interrupted firmly, "you don't want to go up to your office, trust me on that."

Another minute, then they had Guillaume and Amedeo through the door and in the car to take them from the Grand Ducal Palace back to the family seat in Colmar.

"Good thing you managed to keep him from rushing back to get whatever he thought he needs," Andrea said as he stood by William's side on the palace steps, waving to the departing car. "Amedeo would have killed him if he'd brought files."

Wills nodded, producing a noise that sounded oddly like suppressed laughter.

Andrea cast him a curious glance. "You two didn't get up to anything in that office while you were gone, by any chance?" he asked, eyebrows quirked.

At William's other side, Carl was not bothering to hide his chuckle. "We might have if there'd been an opportunity," he said.

Andrea's eyebrows rose higher. "Well, if you want to go back, by all means..." he drawled suggestively.

Wills shook his head. "Can't," he said.

"Can't?"

"Joachim and Alexandra would protest. They had the same idea, you could say. At least we can be sure they've got a thorough supply of condoms." There was a definite smirk on William's face now, and he ducked to kiss the corner of Carl's mouth before drawing him close with an arm loosely slung around his shoulder.

Andrea blinked. Guillaume's sister and Amedeo's brother?

Habsburgs. And he was starting to suspect that the Nassaus weren't any better.

***  
 _July 2015_  
***

Andrea had gone to bed early for once, jet-lagged after a weekend trip to New York with Tatiana - who was peacefully asleep at his side, producing the occasional quiet snuffle he wouldn't call a snore under any circumstances - when his phone started ringing.

Never a good sign at this time of the night, not even when most of his friends knew that he tended to be available until midnight and even later. The only one who never paid any regard to the time these days was his uncle, so Andrea reached for the phone with an annoyed frown on his face.

Then blinked when the number wasn't a Monegasque one but that of Carl.

"Hey," he greeted him, pitching his voice low so he wouldn't wake Tatiana. She usually managed to sleep through phone calls and quiet conversations, and right now she had her head pillowed on his chest and her arm slung across his belly so he couldn't have gotten away without disturbing her. "Everything all right?"

He heard a quiet sigh from Carl. "Mind hiding us for a few days?"

Andrea frowned. "Hide you? Of course, whenever you want. What am I hiding you from?" The press was the most likely reason, and that would take some preparation unless he shipped Carl and Wills off to Charlotte's island again. Not the worst place to be in early summer, anyway.

Another sigh. "Wills had another disagreement with his father, and things are not exactly comfortable here right now. If we could get away for a little while, until it all calms down again, it's at least going to put an end to the shouting for the next few days."

"Whenever you need to, you know that," Andrea told him firmly. "Grab Wills and get going. You are bringing him, right? Not that I wouldn't be just as happy to see you by yourself. Tatiana did say we should think about getting a pet."

Carl managed a chuckle. "I suspect she wasn't thinking of me."

Andrea glanced down at her face, peaceful in sleep. "I wouldn't be so sure of that," he drawled. "She likes you."

Brief silence at the other end of the line. "Not in that way, I hope."

"She'd keep you as a pet, I'm sure." Andrea absently stroked her hair, then dropped his hand when he realised he might wake her. "But don't worry, I'm not waiting here with a leash and collar." He paused. "Although..."

"They chafe, remember Amedeo's insight on that matter? Though I don't want to know how he found out about that."

Andrea hummed in consideration. "Probably one of Guillaume's attempts to keep him in line," he suggested.

"I said I don't want to know. Anyway, no collar, I doubt Wills would take that well."

Smirking, Andrea snuggled closer to Tatiana and carefully turned a little on his side. "I could make it one with his coat of arms on the badge." Something to remember for the next package of suggestive surprises; perhaps Carl didn't approve of the idea, but that didn't have to mean that Wills was similarly reluctant about it. The man was grabby enough where Carl was concerned, after all, so who knew, he might appreciate the gesture.

He heard Carl snort with laughter. "Andrea, you know I like you, I really do, but sometimes..."

"You and Wills need to be more adventurous, that's all. So, when can I expect you? If it's this week or the next, I can even hide you in the palace. Uncle Albert isn't in residence, they've gone up to Roc Agel." His uncle's wife was spending as little time in Monaco as possible by now, and his uncle had never been overly fond of the country either. Dislike for Monaco trumped even his indifferent attitude towards his wife these days.

"The weekend, we've both got events scheduled until then and it's the earliest we can get away," Carl said, sounding understandably wistful about it.

"Perfect, we'll see you then." Tatiana made a little huffing noise in her sleep and wriggled closer to tuck her head under Andrea's chin, familiar and comfortable. He shifted to accommodate her, then returned his attention to Carl. "You'll tell me if there's anything I can do to help?"

There was a smile to Carl's voice. "I will, Andrea, thanks. From Wills, too."

***  
 _August 2015_  
***

It was the first of these escapes, but not the last. Wills and Carl turned into regular visitors during the following weeks, as soon as the British royals went on their semi-official summer break and their schedules eased up. So far, nobody appeared to question why these two tended to head for Monaco in order to relax, and while the press had caught on to their holiday destination at least some of the time, they hadn't done much more than comment on it. That Monaco had a police force highly efficient at dealing with paparazzi certainly helped in that regard.

The reasons for this persistent need to get away stayed the same, as far as Andrea could tell. On the one hand, he liked to think that the two genuinely enjoyed visiting, but he wasn't so deluded to think that the splendid Mediterranean weather, Monegasque food and the sheer charm of his and Tatiana's company were the main attractions.

"I don't care if he's the Prince of Wales," Carl was saying one evening as they sat together on the balcony of Andrea's suite in the palace, looking down at the ships in Monaco's harbour. "That doesn't matter in any way."

Andrea glanced at him. "And what does matter?" he asked, contemplating a cigarette but deciding against it for now.

"That Wills is his son and that we need to get along with him, whether we want to or not." Shaking his head, Carl leaned back on his seat for a moment, arms crossed before him, then sat up straight again. "If I'd had the slightest idea just how awkward matters are between the two of them..."

"You'd have done what, exactly?" Andrea asked, squinting against the low evening sun. He moved his chair towards Carl a fraction, just enough to get himself out of the intrusive sunshine. "Told him off? Kidnapped Wills to hide him in Sweden? Kept your hands off him and come back here to live with Tatiana and me?"

Carl cast him an amused look. "You might as well give up on that."

"I can try," Andrea shot back with a wink. "Where is he, anyway? Abandoned you, has he? You should see sense and stay here, we'll take good care of you."

One of the half-tame sparrows landed on the balcony rail, chirping, and Carl tossed it a few crumbs from the slices of fresh baguette they'd brought to last them until dinner. "He's having a shower, that hardly counts as abandoning me."

Andrea quirked an eyebrow. "Without you? Tragic."

"Very," Carl agreed dryly. "I'll just have to make do with you until he's back."

"Can't be too long if you force him to shower without you." Crossing his legs at the ankles, Andrea slouched deeper in his chair. "So Charles still hasn't wrapped his mind around the idea of the two of you?"

Sighing, Carl toyed with the glass in his hand - water for now, until they had a decent foundation for anything else - and shook his head. "He doesn't approve and he's letting us know. Wills more than me, he is the one responsible for it all. I'm just the irritating Swedish affair who seized the opportunity when it presented itself, but Wills is the one who was stupid enough to fall for it."

Andrea hummed in agreement and took out a cigarette. "How did he fall for it, anyway?" he asked idly as he lit ti.

Carl treated him to a disapproving look, then shrugged. "Dragged him into bed and didn't take no for an answer." He paused. "Not that he actually protested."

Of course he hadn't, Andrea thought. Wills wasn't an idiot, after all, and that sort of opportunity didn't present itself every day. "And I assume that he isn't protesting now either. He certainly doesn't look like he's desperately trying to get away." Quite the opposite, really; Andrea hadn't yet spotted him keep a hand on some part of Carl under the table at dinner, but he wouldn't be at all surprised to see it.

"No, he isn't trying to get away," Carl confirmed and sat up straight for a moment to roll his shoulders, one hand coming up to rub at a sore spot. "And that's the problem with his father. There's always that underlying expectation that Wills is going to tire of me, or that I'll cheat on him, and that we'll generally make a mess of things." He shrugged, a depreciating smile on his face. "Really makes for great breakfast conversation."

"Pass me the butter, please, and by the way, I think you should separate so I can say that I knew it from the beginning?" Andrea suggested in his best imitation of a British accent. "The man needs to get over himself."

Carl sighed. "You tell him that."

Reaching out, Andrea patted his knee before leaning in to gather him in a quick half-hug, one arm around Carl's shoulders. "I'd do it if you wanted me to," he said and gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek. "But I'm not certain it would be the smartest move, he's growled at me too."

And had thought that Andrea was warming Carl's bed while Wills was absent. The idea in itself was hardly offensive, not when the two of them had shared plenty of fun that way, but Charles couldn't possibly know of it. And _that_ was what made it offensive, the idea that Carl would be callous enough to do that to Wills, and that Andrea would be unscrupulous enough to go along with it.

The more he thought about it, the harder Andrea found it to muster much respect for the Prince of Wales these days.

Carl briefly looked tempted, then shook his head, a frown on his face. "Better don't," he said. "Not that I wouldn't appreciate the gesture, but the Prince of Wales really isn't an enemy I'd recommend. Even Vicky is being careful there, though she's given him a piece of her mind once or twice."

Andrea grumbled in agreement. "So what are you going to do?" he asked. Carl was right, there weren't a lot of options open to them, and he wondered what it would mean when Charles succeeded to the throne. His best guess was that it would move the current underhanded power play between father and son to an all new level.

"There isn't all that much we _can_ do aside from avoiding the situation. So far it's working." Grimacing, Carl leaned forward, elbows propped up on his knees. "What's downright ironic is that Wills and I had our first real argument because I thought he needed to talk more to his father and try to make compromises."

"Not a position you support anymore, I assume," Andrea said, a small smile on his face which was mirrored by Carl after a few moments. "I have to admit, it's hard to picture you two disagreeing on anything. You're almost too harmonic to be real."

Carl chuckled. "I'm not sure you really could call it a disagreement, anyway. I merely waited for Wills to come to his senses and admit that I was right."

"And how did that play out?"

Carl simply shrugged. "Three days, then he gave up and we... reconciled." The last was said in the sort of tone that Andrea didn't even bother trying to fight his grin.

The sound of footsteps behind them made them both turn around; Wills padded towards them in shorts and a t-shirt Andrea was fairly certain he'd last seen on Carl, hair still faintly damp from his shower.

"Hey," Carl murmured, tilting his head back. Wills shot him an amused glance at the expectant gesture, then dropped an upside-down kiss on his lips before looking over at Andrea.

Andrea suggestively quirked an eyebrow and leaned up as well.

Wills just snorted. "I'm not kissing you again, so don't look like that."

"Pity. By now you should know what you're missing." Andrea heaved a demonstrative sigh, but reached over to his left to drag the remaining free chair closer in a peace offering. "One day..."

"One day you'll flirt with the wrong person and you'll end up snogging Guillaume," Wills grumbled as he moved the chair between those of Carl and Andrea and settled down. "Do I have to remind you that you've got a lovely girlfriend?"

"As though I'd ever forget her. But she's abandoned me until dinner, so I've got to find alternatives." Wills was a far too entertaining challenge to pass up, anyway, and besides, if some good-natured flirting helped to distract him from the more serious reasons behind his visit to Monaco, then Andrea was more than happy to play along and work on keeping the mood light.

"Alternatives?" Wills wanted to know, legs comfortably stretched out before him, one of Carl's hands coming to rest on his knee in one of those small gestures which came automatic to those two.

Andrea smirked at him, eyes half closed against the sun which was shining into his face once again. "Alternatives."

***

Impromptu commands to attend his uncle's monthly audience never boded well. It was Albert's favourite setting to dump additional duties on him, and Andrea truly wasn't in the mood for any more concerts, minor sports events and award presentations which Albert had deemed too boring to warrant the Princely Presence. Sending a nephew appeared to be an acceptable alternative, in his eyes, never mind that it wreaked havoc with Andrea's own schedule.

He trudged through the private hallways of the Palais Princier that morning, still not certain what this was about. His mother hadn't known either - never a good sign, since her network tended to pick up on almost every plan in advance. If she hadn't heard anything, it meant that whatever was going on only existed in Albert's head right now and hadn't been vetted for sanity yet.

In front of the door connecting the private areas with the public ones, Andrea stopped for a moment to straighten up, adjust his suit and re-check his shirt collar and tie. Reaching for a pleased smile he didn't feel, he took a deep breath and stepped outside into the busy crowd attending the rare chance at an official audience with the Prince of Monaco.

At first, it all went as it usually did. He took his time as he made his way through the crowd, stopping here and there to exchange a few words when he recognised a face. Once inside the lavish audience chamber with its baroque decorations (spoiled completely by the incredibly ugly modern furniture his aunt-by-marriage had added recently), he was immediately whisked to the side by one of his Albert's aides and made to wait in plain sight, almost as if he were one of the staff members.

For almost two hours he was made to wait and watch while his uncle received visitor after visitor, and couldn't figure out why. Nothing of major importance was decided here - that happened in informal meetings - and the attending Monegasques came mostly to personally deliver invitations to their business events (which Albert ignored) and to complain about bureaucratic grievances (which were ignored as well).

It made no sense until the moment the last petitioner of the day left. Then his uncle looked around, pretended to spot him for the first time, put on a pleased expression and motioned him to come closer.

His mood thoroughly spoiled by now and his feet aching from standing still for so long, Andrea followed the gesture and stalked up to his Albert's work desk, coming to a halt in front of it.

"Andrea, very good of you to visit," Albert beamed at him.

"As though I'd dream of disobeying an order," he countered, barely managing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

His uncle didn't seem to notice. "Of course not, you've always been good about that. Much better than your brother, he never makes time when I require his presence."

No, Pierre didn't, because he had more important things to do than dance attendance on Albert. Like run a conglomerate of companies worth a few billion; not that Albert would ever understand the reasoning behind that, or realise that Pierre was essentially calling the shots on Monaco's economic well-being by now.

Sighing inwardly, Andrea struggled for patience. "He'll come for National Day, along with Charlotte. They're just so busy these days, but they always ask me how things stand here in Monaco. Charlotte had another photo session with Vanity Fair last week, there'll be a cover story about Monaco's young ladies."

Albert looked thoroughly cheered up at that; media attention always was a guaranteed way to please him. "She's a good girl, your sister. I'll have to call and congratulate her." No thanks, of course, never that. "And the same goes for you, too."

"For me?" Andrea asked warily.

"Tell me, how did you like the audience today?" Albert wanted to know, leaning back in his upholstered chair.

Andrea spared a moment's thought to how pleasant it would be to sit down. "It has been interesting," he offered the most diplomatic answer he could think of.

His uncle nodded. "It is our most important way to stay in contact with the people."

_If that's so_ , Andrea wanted to ask, _then why do you only bother with it once a month, and miss even that appointment half the time?_ But he bit his tongue and said nothing, merely nodded.

"From now on," Albert continued, unaware of Andrea's growing irritation, "you will attend all audiences. And you'll also be present for the meetings of the governmental councils once they are in session again after the summer."

Andrea blinked, briefly at a loss for words. "Why?" he managed after a few seconds. There was only one real reason for a move like that -

Albert waved his hand dismissively. "The constitution calls for the presence of the Prince or a confidante and member of the House of Grimaldi. I cannot always make time for such trifles, so you will represent me."

And that wasn't it at all. In any other monarchy, a move like this would mean the heir being brought into position. In Monaco, apparently, it merely meant that the Prince couldn't be bothered to deal with the day-to-day machinations of the principality anymore.

"You won't have to decide anything, don't worry," Albert continued, perhaps mistaking his incredulous look for concern. "You will receive instructions for everything, all you need to do is attend."

Perfect, simply perfect: what was this going to be, the full set of duties of a working royal with none of the responsibility and influence? It took a major effort not to protest, and only the knowledge that it would be utterly pointless kept Andrea from trying.

"Does Mother know of it already?" he asked instead, even though he could guess at the answer.

Albert suddenly looked uneasy. "I haven't had time to inform her yet," he admitted. "But I am sure she'll be delighted at the news. You can be the one to tell her."

"That's very kind of you," Andrea murmured, swallowing the _coward_ which lay on the tip of his tongue. If his mother caught hold of her brother, she'd tear his head off. Figuratively.

Probably.

***  
 _September 2015_  
***

The summer saw a slow but steady influx of foreign royalty into Monaco, and by early September, Andrea no longer thought it remarkable to spend a day on the princely family's private beach with two future crowned heads and their partners.

Their little informal network had strengthened over the past weeks; the ties between Andrea, Carl and Wills had been solid since the winter already, but now Amedeo and Guillaume were firmly established as part of their group as well. Habsburg insanity aside, Amedeo had always been easy to get along with. And Guillaume was making such an earnest effort to be nice - doubtlessly reinforced by his husband - that it was almost impossible to maintain a grudge over his past transgressions. He still kept his distance, to some extent, but he already was a lot more open towards them all than at the beginning of summer. Andrea figured that it was hard to maintain a dignified position when you couldn't resist the temptation of occasionally being normal enough to have fun playing on the beach.

Once everyone's summer break ended and the stress of the autumn and winter months with all their duties and appointments began, it would all slow down to a trickle once more, but for now Andrea thoroughly relished the company. They mattered to him, as friends first and foremost since they knew about the unique balancing act between public and private lives which every member of a ruling house had to perform. And while he wasn't always willing to admit it, their presence also mattered as a tentative sign of acceptance into royal circles. Things were never clear-cut and simple these days, a fact he'd had to acknowledge ever since his mother and uncle had begun to push him onto the political stage.

Wills and Carl accompanied him to the occasional public engagement, as long as it was related to his personal projects and not Monegasque affairs of state. Amedeo and Guillaume had begun to do the same after a while, once they'd settled into their new role as an official couple. It was a visible demonstration of support and approval, and Andrea wasn't about to take that for granted.

There were ways to show his gratitude, however; to them, time in Monaco was time away from the tight constraints of their lives as working royals, and Andrea was happy to provide them with excuses for this temporary escape.

"Tired already?" Tatiana asked, dropping down to sit behind him on the deck chair, her arms slipping around his waist. "Surely a bit of water volleyball can't have exhausted you that much." She leaned against him, chin propped up on his shoulder, and he only had to turn his head a fraction to rub his cheek against hers.

"Long night," he murmured. "Or short night, depending on how you look at it." Another forced gala attendance on his uncle's behalf, and by the time he'd managed to get away, the sunrise hadn't been all that far off. It wasn't enough to make him willing to miss out on a day with his friends at the beach, but it meant that he was content to lounge in the shade on a deck chair while the others pursued more exhausting activities. Carl, Wills and Guillaume were still down in the water, either playing volleyball or attempting to drown each other - or both, Andrea wasn't entirely certain - while Pierre and Amedeo were focused on constructing an elaborate sandcastle further up on the beach.

He could feel Tatiana's sigh. "I'm not sure it's good for you that your uncle is drafting you so often now," she said quietly. "It's too much, too sudden."

Andrea brought up his hands to cover hers where they rested against his bare belly. "I just have to get used to it, that's all." He didn't bother to add that there wasn't much of a choice left to him anymore, not if he wanted to maintain his chances at ruling Monaco one day. If he balked at the workload now, he'd never be taken seriously.

"You have to get used to it, and Albert has to figure out that he cannot dump duties on you on a whim." Tatiana leaned against him, her skin still cool and wet from her swim. "If he doesn't keep it to a reasonable level, I'm going to have another talk with him."

Which might just be enough to force his uncle's hand and either have him name Andrea as official heir, or declare that he'd legitimise one of his bastards. At last count, there were enough around who could be moved into the heir spot by the simple means of divorcing the current Princess and remarrying the mother of one of the illegitimate children.

On a strictly personal level, Andrea felt the appeal, but he was only too aware that if this ever came to be, they might as well wave Monaco goodbye and hope for a quick annexation by France. No, not taking responsibility no longer was an option open to him. He cared too much for that.

"Better don't frighten poor Uncle Albert like that," he murmured against Tatiana's cheek. "He'll run off and hide, and then where would we be? I'd prefer it if he at least pretended to be in charge for a little longer, I'm not sure I want to hand over my life just yet."

Tatiana turned her head to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth. "Fine, but only for as long as he remains useful. And as long as you don't forget to take care of yourself."

He still didn't like to admit that even to himself. "I think Pierre has plans too for the day Albert ceases to be useful," he said. "Yours probably are harmless in comparison."

Delicate eyebrow quirked, Tatiana glanced at his brother, currently occupied with modelling turrets on his sand castle. "I've always known that there are good reasons why I like Pierre." Another kiss, to his cheek this time, then to his ear. "Skip your evening appointment tonight," she told him.

He looked at her. "Plans?" he wanted to know, his hands briefly tightening on hers.

She lightly nipped his earlobe. "You have to ask? But later. You'll have a few hours to play with the boys and relax, I'll take care of that concert. And afterwards," another bite, sharper this time and followed by a teasing lick, "you can make it up to me."

"I like that plan, but I can hardly abandon you, can I?" A classical concert wasn't something he felt particularly interested in, but there were worse events to attend. The annual Grand Prix weekend came to mind: three days filled with deafening noise, stinging petrol fumes and horrendous crowds. Compared to that, three hours of Bach seemed downright bearable.

"Don't worry, I'll find myself some company." Pushing away from him, she straightened. "Amedeo!"

The most exalted member of their small group of royals and almost-royals looked up at the sharp sound of his name, one cheek smudged with a streak of sand, his nose showing the first hint of sunburn. "Yes?" he called back.

"I need to borrow your husband for tonight."

Amedeo appeared momentarily taken aback. "Don't you have your own?"

"Too exhausted, he wouldn't measure up to his usual performance."

"Hey," Andrea murmured in protest. "You aren't replacing me with Guillaume, are you?"

Tatiana winked at him. "His husband does look satisfied with his capabilities," she said, then returned her attention to Amedeo. "Can you lend him to me for a few hours? I promise I'll bring him back in one piece."

Pushing up to his feet, Amedeo padded over to them. "Depends on what you want with him," he said, reaching for the water bottles in the cooler they'd brought along. He tossed one to Pierre - and only swift reflexes prevented it from turning into a sandcastle-threatening missile - then uncapped one for himself.

Hands on Andrea's shoulders, Tatiana treated Amedeo to one of her best innocent looks. "Dinner and concert," she said. "As though I'd ever consider him for anything else."

Amedeo's amused expression spoke volumes.

Andrea frowned at him, then at Tatiana. "Did I miss something?"

She waved off. "A bit of flirting when I was at school with him, but it didn't take all that long to figure out that he was a lost case for womanhood."

"Sounds like you knew that before he did," Amedeo murmured, pausing for a sip of water. "So you need an escort for tonight?"

Tatiana nodded, her fingers tapping an idle rhythm against Andrea's shoulders. "A bit of Baroque chamber music and then dinner with the musicians. Nothing sinister whatsoever, but I suspect Andrea's going to be fast asleep after ten minutes. And I need someone who's fluent in French, so Wills and Carl are out."

Another glance at Andrea, then Amedeo shrugged, leaving Andrea wonder just how worn out he had to look if it didn't take more of an argument to convince him. "No problem. I've got a counter-offer, though - you get me instead of Guillaume. Otherwise I can't argue that we're coming to Monaco to give him a break from work, and he'll be irrationally difficult about it all the next time I try to kidnap him for a holiday."

Despite the joking tone, Andrea couldn't miss the serious undercurrent there. That Guillaume was addicted to work was hardly a secret; even if Andrea hadn't noticed it for himself, Wills kept muttering about it whenever they spotted their Hereditary Grand Duke involved in yet another project. But so far, Andrea had thought that Amedeo had the situation well in hand.

"That bad, is it?" Tatiana asked sympathetically.

Amedeo sat down on the second deck chair in an uneasy perch. "It's getting better, actually. He genuinely enjoys coming to Monaco, so that's making it easier to talk him into the occasional weekend without appointments. If we can keep on visiting, I'll gladly stand in for Andrea on occasion."

Tatiana cocked her head, a suggestive smile playing on her lips.

"Whenever it's appropriate," Amedeo amended.

"As though anyone cares about that," she said. "But there are some limits to your usefulness, I agree."

Andrea turned to brush his lips against her cheek. "He has admitted to girlfriends, remember?"

"True, I forgot about that."

Clearing his throat, Amedeo looked at the two of them. "Not that I'm not flattered, mind, but I think dinner and a concert is as far as we should go." He paused, cocking his head contemplatively. "For now, at least."

Laughing, Tatiana leaned over to tap her finger against the tip of his nose. "Keep dreaming," she told him. "And do something about that sunburn so I can show you off tonight."

***  
 _October 2015_  
***

"I just wish he kept it private," Wills told him a few weeks later, "but he's starting to drop hints to reporters and I'm running out of patience. I was _this_ close to saying something this morning..."

"Judging by the lack of headlines about it, I assume you bit your tongue." Phone in one hand, Andrea stuffed clothes into his suitcase with the other. "Could have been interesting, I bet half of them would have called it 'Battle of Wills'."

"Very amusing," Wills muttered. "If it hadn't been for Alex, this might have gone differently. I still have an imprint of her heel on my shoe."

Andrea attempted to count days in order to figure out how many shirts he was going to need. "I always thought she's a very smart woman," he said. Not days, he decided, the important number was that of how many shared meals he was about to have in the coming week. "Wills, what are the chances of getting through a day at an official function with my shirt intact?"

There was a moment of silence at the other end of the line, then, inexplicably, a chuckle. "Pack a few spares," Wills advised. "A lack of clean shirts is what got me and Carl together, but those were unique circumstances. Where's your uncle sending you this time?"

Four days, eight shared meals, eight opportunities for him or someone else to make a mess... Andrea grabbed a decent-sized stack of white dress shirts from his closet and figured that this way he at least wouldn't have to colour-coordinate anything.

"Andorra, a meeting of the European microstates," he said and went looking for suits. "Uncle Albert can't be bothered, so he's calling it a perfect opportunity for me to gather diplomatic experience."

Wills hummed in agreement. "That might not be such a bad idea. You've got to start at some point."

"It's going to be a complete disaster," Andrea murmured. Suits... those couldn't go into the suitcase, he realised and started looking for a clothes bag. Why was that bloody thing called a suitcase, anyway, if you couldn't transport actual suits in them without getting them all wrinkled? "His office hasn't even given me a schedule or an agenda or anything yet, all I know is that I'm booked on a flight tomorrow morning and a return flight on Sunday. And I'm supposed to look out for the interests of Monaco, but whenever I ask, it seems as if nobody can decide what those are at the moment."

"That's..."

Andrea heaved a sigh. "That's how Monegasque politics work these days. At least I know we'll be talking about a few co-operations concerning sports and culture, but I got that from the conference website." He paused in front of his open closet, his eyes screwed shut. "Wills, I really don't know how this is supposed to work." 

He'd asked his mother earlier, but she had never been permitted to attend one of these conferences. It had always been handled by members of the State Council in the past years, and it seemed as though none of them had bothered to compose reports afterwards. All she'd been able to tell him was to expect a number of black tie events, plenty of pomp and circumstance and just as much diplomatic backstabbery, but not from which direction. Right now, Andrea counted himself fortunate that he knew which countries would attend.

"Isn't there anyone who can advise you?" Wills asked.

"Not in Monaco."

"And in the other countries?"

Andrea grimaced. "That would go down well, wouldn't it? 'Sorry, I know we'll be arguing for the next few days and try to trick each other into suitable agreements, but would you mind explaining to me how it all works?' Somehow I think they won't do that. Besides, I don't even have a list of names for the other delegates yet."

Which was going to make the official introductions a lot of fun. Andrea was reasonably good at memorising new names and faces, but it was much easier when he could have a look at a list in advance. He wished he could bring Tatiana along - she'd always been better at the challenges of casual networking than him - but it was an official appointment, a number of attendants were representatives of the Catholic Church, and unmarried partners had no place there, never mind how competent.

"You'll manage," Wills said, suddenly sounding very soothing. "Just don't let them see that you're nervous."

"Or they'll bite? Even better." Andrea raked his free hand through his hair. "If I make a mess of things, do you think your grandmother would grant me asylum if they don't let me back into Monaco?"

***

During the first day of the conference, Andrea's worst fears were confirmed. He was struggling in almost every conversation, had no chance to put together names and faces and positions to know whether the person he was talking to was a decision-maker or merely an assistant, and he'd never even heard the names of the projects they were discussing.

Fortunately the scheduled events on this first day were still casual; he already dreaded the formal debates and meetings which would begin tomorrow. Almost by chance he'd discovered that he was going to give at least two speeches (the topic still was a mystery) and that Monaco supposedly was the leading voice in several commissions and that some of the other states were expecting to follow his lead.

Where exactly he was supposed to lead them, however... Phone calls to his uncle had yielded no results whatsoever aside from an admonishment to take responsibility and be more assertive and independent. His mother hadn't been able to offer more than general advice either, and while Pierre and Tatiana both were looking into the various issues, they hadn't been able to make any immediate suggestions. The most specific instruction had come from Pierre, a firm reminder not to agree to anything which would cost money. It had been followed by the suggestion to see whether anyone would be interested in investing in Monegasque government bonds.

By afternoon, Andrea was fighting a pounding headache, along with the urge to hide in his hotel suite until this all was over. It wasn't that he didn't want the responsibility - but like this, it was simply pointless. The scary thing was that he could not even be certain that he'd do a worse job than any past delegates.

The opening ceremony, stuffed with speeches, a small orchestra playing the attending states' national anthems, and performances of assorted Andorran folklore was something he'd hoped to avoid. But as the head of the Monegasque delegation (laughable, since all his delegation members seemed to view this as a pleasure trip paid for by the state), Andrea was expected to sit in the front row, always within sight of cameras and all the other dignitaries. So he gritted his teeth, made sure he was still smiling even though he could barely feel the muscles of his face anymore, and went to his assigned seat.

Only to discover that to his left he had the head of the newly arrived Luxembourgian delegation, who was none other than Guillaume.

"Hi," he murmured a greeting, and received an earnest nod in response. Guillaume looked exactly as prepared as Andrea wished he were; briefcase by the side of his chair, tie and suit just the right level of formality and style for the day, his entire appearance impeccable and radiating the sort of quiet confidence that said he knew what he was doing.

Andrea summoned his last reserves of confidence, sat down and did his best to remember all the tricks he'd been taught about body language and demonstrating that he felt in control of the situation.

His headache became progressively worse during the ceremony, until it required a major effort not to cover his ears during the music pieces, and not to doze off while speeches were held. At least the common language was French, so he didn't have to focus on understanding what was being said.

He had a moment of complete and utter fright when Guillaume suddenly got up from his seat and went to give a brief speech, only to breathe a huge sigh of relief when it turned out that this was because Luxembourg had been the previous host and now duly delivered congratulations and well-wishing to Andorra. If he'd had to say something... he knew how to put together a meaningless impromptu speech of two minutes which fit almost every occasion, but he didn't think he'd impress anyone here.

Once Guillaume was done, there was a definite change in atmosphere; everybody was talking and some people were getting up from their seats. Over already? Andrea didn't think nearly enough time had passed, but he still didn't have an updated and reliable schedule.

"Is it time for dinner yet?" he asked when Guillaume came back to reclaim his seat.

Guillaume shot him an odd look. "Of course not. It's just a brief break, as always after the hand-over speech from the old to the new host country."

As always. Andrea wished someone had bothered to take notes last time.

The ceremony kept dragging on, now with the added complication of Guillaume occasionally glancing at him, a deepening frown on his face. Eventually, Andrea was beyond caring; his head felt ready to crack, he had no idea what this entire farce was about and what role he was supposed to play, and all he wanted was to catch hold of someone to tell him what on Earth he was expected to do as delegation leader.

During what felt like the twenty-fifth musical intermission - a girl was on stage now in traditional Andorran dress, reciting some sort of folk song - Guillaume nudged his arm, sudden enough to make Andrea jump in his seat.

"Oh, for..." Guillaume hissed. "Calm down. And here, take that." He held out a travel-sized box of Ibuprofen, then reached into his briefcase to produce a small bottle of water.

Andrea could have kissed him, but heroically suppressed the urge and simply accepted the pills. "Thank you," he murmured in reply and managed a little smile. "I always knew that deep in your heart you cared."

Guillaume cast him a withering look. "I'm doing this only because your whimpering is distracting," he muttered, but waved off when Andrea attempted to give back the water bottle.

For the rest of the day, Andrea did his best to stick to Guillaume whenever possible. If anyone wondered why the Monegasque delegation leader followed one of his opponents around like a well-trained puppy, they didn't mention it. Guillaume kept giving him irritated looks, but otherwise seemed to settle for exasperated tolerance and even continued to quietly supply him with headache pills and water.

With anyone else, this gesture of help wouldn't have been anything Andrea considered particularly worth mentioning. He'd be grateful, return the favour at the next chance, and not dwell on it for more than a minute. When it was Guillaume who came to the rescue, however, it wasn't nearly so clear-cut. Dealing with him had become a lot easier over the past year, but this was the first time they met without anyone else present to intercede in case anything went awry. And while Andrea didn't think they were in for a repeat of their first - and fairly disastrous - encounter over a decade ago, he still couldn't entirely shake off the caution he'd felt ever since.

For now, however, it didn't appear that Andrea was about to be icily snubbed just for trying to be friendly. High time, too; it was simply ridiculous for Guillaume to hold a grudge over a few well-intended hints for this long. If they could finally move beyond that, Andrea wasn't about to complain.

He made it through dinner - barely - and vanished at the earliest opportunity, praying that Pierre and Tatiana had some new information for him, even if that meant he wouldn't get much sleep. Anything was better than this infuriating cluelessness, made worse by the simple fact that it wasn't his fault and that he couldn't do anything about it.

He'd just checked in with Pierre, to the depressing news that there were no news, when he had an incoming call.

"I hear you're spending time at a romantic mountain getaway with my husband," Amedeo greeted him cheerfully. "Enjoying yourself?"

"I wish," Andrea grumbled, going through the list of attendees and trying to match names to faces.

It was startling how quickly Amedeo managed to switch from joking to absolute seriousness. "Damn, so Guillaume got it right. He thought you might be in over your head."

Andrea frowned and reached for a pen to try and put together a few notes on the delegation heads. "Not that I'm in any way surprised that you and Guillaume find me a fascinating topic of conversation, but... why?"

"Because he mentioned that you're there and that, bluntly put, you looked like a fish out of water. He's wondering whether you need any assistance."

Blinking, Andrea put down the pen again. "And he couldn't ask me that himself? He's got the suite next to mine, it's not exactly a long walk."

"I think he was worried what you might be getting up to," Amedeo said, a smirk to his voice. "Who knows, you might be prancing about naked in front of the mirror and singing opera arias." A brief pause. "Are you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Andrea shot back. "Listen, if Guillaume is willing to help me in any way whatsoever, I'll be grateful."

Amedeo hummed as he considered it. "That bad?"

Andrea hesitated briefly, hovering between reluctance to admit that he wasn't up to this, and the simple reality of the situation. Mercifully it was Amedeo who was asking and not Guillaume; the admission was a lot simpler with him running interference. "Nobody told me anything, I haven't got the faintest idea what I'm supposed to do here, and it seems nobody in Monaco can be bothered to keep me informed and... help. Please."

For the next ten minutes, Amedeo murmured soothingly at him until a sharp rap at the door announced his promised crash course in international microstate diplomacy.

It wasn't exactly reassuring that Guillaume kept casting him disbelieving looks whenever they hit on yet another aspect of the meeting which Andrea hadn't been told about, but it was nice to have the confirmation that someone else found it just as incredulous as Andrea did himself.

"You should at least have basic briefing materials," Guillaume said, leafing through the handful of print-outs Andrea had been presented with. "Where's the rest of your delegation? They ought to be working on that right now."

Andrea shrugged. "Does Andorra have night clubs? If yes, I assume you'll find them there. I suspect I'm the only one they sent here who isn't on a pleasure trip."

"Though you won't get much done if this all you've got." Guillaume folded his arms and eyed Andrea's dossiers with the sort of stunned curiosity usually reserved for zoologists faced with a living member of a species they'd been told was extinct. "Seriously, this is everything they gave you? You're sure you didn't forget anything?"

"This is what they gave me after I pestered them for a week," Andrea snapped before he could stop himself. He inhaled sharply, running a hand across his face in an attempt to calm himself. "Sorry. It's just... ah, damn it. I can't even say I'll make sure it goes better next time."

A deep frown on his face, Guillaume tapped the top sheet of paper with his pen. "If it's any consolation, I don't believe it can get any worse."

Andrea shot him a sardonic smile. "That's very reassuring."

"Look... do you have any instructions whatsoever regarding what you are supposed to achieve?"

He shook his head.

Guillaume rolled his eyes. "To think that we were actually worried about the position Monaco was going to take..."

Andrea scowled at him. "Rub it in, why don't you. I know this is bad-"

"That's an understatement," Guillaume murmured.

"- but surely there must be a way to salvage this somehow?" Andrea continued, pretending to ignore him. "I simply cannot afford to go back and tell Albert and his flunkies 'sorry, couldn't get any results', never mind that it's their responsibility. It's not like anyone cares."

By now he was starting to wonder whether it wasn't a set-up anyway. His uncle's current caste of political cronies had a splendid time as long as the status quo was maintained, and Andrea's increasing involvement in governmental affairs was rocking the boat. What better way to eliminate him than by making him seem incompetent? Albert changed his mind easily enough; one failure at a sizable task like this one could be enough to make him decide that Andrea wasn't cut out for the job. Whatever his job was about; Andrea figured it currently lay somewhere between convenient stand-in for boring tasks and half-hearted attempt at designating an heir.

Guillaume looked at the papers, then at Andrea. "I may have a suggestion," he said.

"Anything," Andrea assured him, then paused. "Well, not anything. There are a few things for which I'd need Tatiana's permission."

The expression on Guillaume's face hovered between irritated and frosty. "A political suggestion," he clarified. "I did some research on Monaco's most likely positions regarding the decisions we'll be voting on. If you make concessions and support the Luxembourg position on the points I need to push through, you get my list. And my support where it doesn't conflict with my own goals."

Andrea nodded. "Done."

Guillaume blinked. "Don't you want to know first which concessions I want you to make?"

"Where's the point? It can't possibly make things any worse." Andrea leaned back in his chair, feeling marginally confident for the first time since setting foot on Andorran ground.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Guillaume's mouth. "If you want to continue in this line of work, you need to learn about negotiating."

Andrea grinned at him. "You can teach me that next time."

Three days later, they stood outside the back door of the conference hall together, getting some fresh air after the final vote of the day. A tight one, even with Monaco staunchly supporting Luxembourg (much to the surprise of everyone else), and to Andrea's left, Guillaume was still fiddling with his mobile, sending messages to all and sundry to coordinate his next moves, whatever they were.

"Calm down," Andrea drawled, fishing his pack of cigarettes out of the inner breast pocket of his coat. "You're making me nervous."

Guillaume shot him the sort of glance that clearly said that he couldn't care less.

"Besides," Andrea continued, unperturbed, "Amedeo called earlier and asked me to make sure you don't overdo it."

Under different circumstances, it would have been impressive to watch Guillaume's mien turn thoroughly blank. After the past days, it simply felt pointless that Guillaume still bothered to keep a strict distance in some matters. "I would thank you to stay out of that."

Andrea rolled his eyes. "I'm merely passing on the message, out of sheer gratitude and the kindness of my heart. Besides, if you keel over, then Tatiana and I may end up having to adopt Amedeo and I'm not sure he'd acclimatise well to Monaco on a permanent basis."

Guillaume merely shot him a flat look and didn't dignify this with a verbal response.

Shrugging, Andrea drew a cigarette from the pack and lit it. "Want one?" he offered amicably. He hadn't seen Guillaume smoke for years, but as jittery as the man was right now, high on nerves and adrenaline from all the speeches, arm-wrestling and vote-coercing he'd just done, it might just be what was needed.

Guillaume cast the pack a longing glance, then shook his head. "Thank you."

It didn't take much to put the clues together. "I won't tell," he promised, smirking. If there had ever been any doubt who was calling the shots in that particular relationship...

Another longing look, then Guillaume gingerly took a cigarette from the offered pack and also accepted Andrea's lighter. "If you mention this..."

Andrea waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry. I need you to do your research so I can crib it from you. It would be counter-productive if Amedeo banned you from attending because I'm a bad influence."

***  
 _November 2015_  
***

November in Monaco couldn't be called cold, at least not compared to most other places in Europe, but a sunny day with temperatures high enough to leave the coat at home was rare nonetheless. It simply had to be taken advantage of, so Andrea willingly let Tatiana coax him outside for lunch and a walk on the promenade along Port Hercule.

The harbour wasn't completely occupied anymore at this time of the year; some of the owners had taken their yachts to warmer waters for the winter already. Whether they'd return in spring remained to be seen; Charlotte had overheard a few comments at a party in Paris last week which didn't inspire confidence. The long-established guests were slowly wandering off, and while new ones moved in to fill the empty spots, they were not nearly as desirable. Andrea couldn't care less about origins and nationalities, but a large group of residents with criminal records and shady connections wasn't exactly a selling point when it came to promoting Monaco internationally.

Still, on this day, with the warm sunshine on his face as they meandered along the wide pathway by the sea, he found it almost easy not to worry about it. These problems were guaranteed to come and haunt them in a few months anyway, and he knew he'd have to listen to either endless debates or, even worse, Albert's casual dismissal of them. Better to take the chance and enjoy a calm day while he still could.

"Pierre is up to something," Tatiana told him, pausing for a spoonful of ice cream from the small paper cup she was holding. It might be November, but that only made the treat even more fun. "He keeps giving me these odd looks. And brings me chocolate."

Andrea raised an eyebrow. "Did he do anything that means he has to placate you?" he asked, leaning in to lick a spot of ice cream from the corner of her mouth. Vanilla, espresso and Tatiana, all rolled into one taste, even better when he followed it up with a quick kiss.

"Not that I remember. Well, there was that incident with the flowers, but he's sorted it out already and apologised for the confusion. And it's not like I was angry at him in the first place, it was a nice gesture, after all."

It certainly had been odd to find fresh bouquets in their apartment without any real explanation for several days in a row, until it had turned out that Charlotte, Alexandra and their mother were receiving the same attention. Pierre in one of his stranger moods, once again, with a need to show his appreciation to the women in the family.

"Perhaps the news from Luxembourg have thrown him off stride?" Andrea suggested. "He and Félix are fairly close, perhaps it's because he heard of the baby."

Another odd moment, that. Guillaume had called very early one morning the week before, sounding almost drunk and definitely stunned, to inform Andrea about his newborn niece and, more importantly, newborn heir. Having that particular concern lifted from his shoulders seemed to have completely cracked him, and even Amedeo's follow-up call a few minutes later, apologising for waking them and explaining that Guillaume hadn't slept for two days and might be a bit delirious on caffeine, sugar and happy news, hadn't done much to reassure Andrea that Guillaume was entirely normal. At least they were all getting used to the Luxembourgian brand of crazy by now.

"If Anna and Félix are enough to make him watch me, he's in for a disappointment," Tatiana said. She had another spoonful of ice cream, then offered one to Andrea, who leaned in to take it. "This stuff is the only reason why I might be putting on weight."

Andrea couldn't help a surreptitious glance at her belly; by her chuckle, he knew he'd been caught. They had spoken about it, of course, but only in general terms, never anything definite so far. If Andrea ended up succeeding Albert - more and more likely with every passing day - then they'd have to think about the eventual succession. But for now they both preferred to leave this decision for the future.

"Nothing to see," Tatiana told him, still chuckling when he drew her close for another taste of ice cream on her lips. "Should I tell Pierre?"

He considered, then shook his head. "He'll get over it. Alexandra is coming for a visit for National Day, that's going to be enough to distract him."

The easy rapport between his two youngest siblings sometimes amazed him; all three of them had taken their little sister under their wing, but Pierre in particular had always watched out for her. And in return, Alexandra adored him enough that even as a teenager, she still allowed him to hover over her. Which would have been more reassuring if it weren't for the permanent air of mischievousness surrounding those two whenever they teamed up.

They kept on walking, Tatiana comfortably tucked against his side, and did their best to ignore the curious looks they got. There'd be paparazzi pictures in the newspapers tomorrow, he knew, but they both refused to let those bastards place limitations on their lives. Anyone too obnoxious got to meet the highly efficient Monegasque police force, and those who kept their distance usually learned very quickly that Princess Caroline and her children were very good at finding out who took unflattering pictures, and that retaliation didn't always have to happen in a courtroom. A friendly opportunity at a good shot for one of the competitors usually was enough to get the point across.

"The girls invited me to Madrid for next week," Tatiana said, feeding him one last bite of ice cream. "A private fashion show with Vogue attendance."

Andrea tried not to let his disappointment show. She'd stayed in Monaco with him since late summer, and in the months before she'd only gone on brief trips of two or three days at a time. It was hardly surprising that she felt the itch again to travel. And he could hardly complain, anyway; the people she stayed in contact with were invaluable from a networking perspective, and he knew he'd need to call on these friends and acquaintances if he ever came into power. 

"When are you leaving?" he asked, doing his best to sound casual.

She slid her arm around his waist in response, her head coming to rest against his shoulder in a clear demonstration that he wasn't fooling her in the least. "I'm not going."

He stopped in mid-stride and drew her to a halt with him. "You're not going? Why not?"

The look in her eyes was far too knowing. "Don't tell me that you want me to."

Andrea hesitated, searching for the right way to phrase his answer. "I don't want you to miss it if you want to be there," he offered.

"You also want me to stay," Tatiana said gently. Her hand came up to cup his cheek and make him look into her eyes. "So I'm staying, it's as simple as that."

"But, Tatiana- "

"You aren't going to try and argue with me so I'll go, are you?" she asked. "I'm staying."

He sighed quietly, but held her gaze. "You don't have to."

"I don't," she agreed. "But I'm doing it despite that, so stop complaining."

Eyebrows raised, he treated her to a mock glower. "I'm not complaining."

"Of course you aren't," she countered, and kissed him before he could keep on arguing the point. Not that he wanted to, but he also didn't want to risk limiting her in any way. She always returned from her trips glowing with excitement, and while he had no doubts that she was happy to come back to him, he also knew that she'd grow restless again after some time.

They would have to figure out a compromise in that regard, see whether they could balance obligations and needs in a way that offered enough to both of them. 

Tatiana gave him a peck on the cheek, then settled down again and prodded him back into moving. "I need to put a few more names on the guest list for the AIDS gala," she told him as they resumed their slow walk along the promenade. "The girls are coming to see me."

The 'girls'. Such a harmless description for this group of young women who held more social, financial and informal political power than a lot of statesmen Andrea could have named. Sometimes he wondered whether people realised that Tatiana's connections and friends were far scarier than his own.

"They know that Albert is going to be there?" he asked. "Without his wife?" Not that it really made a difference.

Tatiana waved off. "He should know better than to try anything with them," she said. "If they don't break his arm themselves if he does as much as look at them in the wrong way, their brothers will do it for them."

Or, even worse, they'd break a few economic relations, which might hurt even more than bones. Andrea just hoped his uncle had the good sense to limit himself to his usual crowd of cronies and their female companions. At least his aunt-by-marriage wouldn't bother to attend; she'd never liked the AIDS gala for its charitable air and the need to behave herself in front of the cameras.

"I'll drop a few hints around him so he behaves himself," he promised.

In reward, Tatiana patted his shoulder, then settled her hand distractingly low against his back. "Perfect. Come on, I want another ice cream."

He cast her an amused glance. "You already had one."

"And I had to share it with you, after you insisted that you don't want one." Her hand briefly dipped low enough to almost make him stumble, then returned to a more innocent location at the small of his back. "Next time, get your own."

"It's more fun to steal yours," he teased, but willingly let himself be directed towards one of the small cafés by the side of the road.

They had to wait for a few minutes, much to the curiosity of some of the customers who clearly recognised them, and Andrea had to insist on paying when the owner attempted to refuse. It was one of his principles and a clear divide he tried to make between official and private moments: as a representative of Monaco, he had to accept some favours, but he needed the balance of being a private person who wasn't treated differently from anyone else. A lesson from his mother which had stuck with all of them, on privilege, duty and how accepting gifts meant accepting obligations.

"Next time, then, Monseigneur Casiraghi," the café owner finally capitulated.

"Monsieur," Andrea corrected quickly. "I'm neither a priest nor a prince." The honorific crept up more and more often these days when he was in Monaco, and it didn't sit well with him. Right now, his uncle was the only one entitled to this form of address, and while the palace employees were careful to keep it that way, others were less cautious. Albert might not care per se, but Andrea knew only too well that one word from one of his political flunkies about how his nephew was shown the same amount of respect could cause a lot more trouble than it was worth.

"Not yet, but we are hopeful," the man told him, sounding much too serious for comfort. "The Prince is very good, of course. Very good." A conspiratorial wink. "But you will be better, we are counting on that."

Exactly the sort of pressure he needed.

***  
 _November 2015_  
***

While Monaco was turning into a refuge for the future British and Luxembourgian rulers, London served as Andrea's escape route. People occasionally recognised him here, but hardly anyone bothered beyond a casual glance or two. Even the paparazzi didn't feel the need to follow him around; they took pictures if he happened to cross their path, but that was all.

So far, he'd even managed to avoid being seen whenever he stopped by at Clarence House to visit with Wills and Carl. That first time had taught him to be inconspicuous, lest he got the two of them into trouble by starting any rumours, and after a handful of visits, the security personnel recognised him. He even had a standing agreement with Carl's senior security officer about calling ahead to be collected in an unmarked vehicle to make sure his arrival would remain unnoticed. The man had even agreed not to specifically announce his visits once Carl had assured him that Andrea and Tatiana were always welcome.

They took advantage of the arrangement once the National Day celebrations were dealt with; Andrea's schedule had been stuffed to bursting for the entire week (irritatingly enough, his uncle hadn't had nearly as many appointments and had still complained that he couldn't delegate anything else) and he was in desperate need of a change of scenery. So Tatiana had called Wills, shoved Andrea into a coat and then into one of the Palace's chauffeured cars, and two hours later they'd been on a plane to Heathrow, where an RPD officer was already waiting for them.

"Thanks for hiding us," Andrea murmured into Carl's ear as he hugged his friend, hanging on for a few moments to soak up the calm familiarity.

"Anytime, you know that."

Another handful of seconds, enough for a quick round of friendly kisses, then firm hands on his upper arms pushed him away and gently passed him on to Wills, who gave him a hug as well while Carl and Tatiana shared their own greeting.

"Am I going to have to sit you down for a talk about taking care of yourself?" Wills asked quietly when the other two didn't seem to be listening. "You look like crap."

Andrea leaned back to scowl at him. "Very charming," he said. "And I know, I've already heard it from Tatiana, so you don't have to repeat it." He paused, then aimed for a teasing smile. "Unless you want to try and convince me."

Wills just treated him to a flat look. "Keep dreaming. And don't think I won't lecture you. I did the same with Guillaume just last weekend, I know how this works."

"Guillaume?"

"Even worse than you," Wills muttered, finally deigning to let Andrea kiss his cheek. "At least you only grow careless when you're stressed. Though it might be the same with him, it's just that stressed is his normal state of mind."

"That bad?"

"That bad," Wills confirmed with a sigh, and swatted at him in protest when Andrea sneaked in a quick kiss to his mouth, intended purely as a friendly gesture. "Stop that," he grumbled, but didn't move away. "And remember about things like sleeping and eating from now on."

Andrea sighed, receiving a pat to the back of his head in consolation. "Don't worry, it's simply been a difficult week."

He knew that he looked as wrung out after the past days as he felt, but it had to be worse than he'd thought if Wills felt a need to mention it. And that after Tatiana had already reminded him in no uncertain terms that he couldn't afford to grow careless again.

Wills gave him a searching look, then nodded decisively. "Come on, let's see what those two are up to. Carl has wanted to show off his new design project for days now, you're his first victims who aren't family." He took a step backwards but kept his hand on Andrea's shoulder to direct him towards the small room that served as part storage, part study and part place to contain Carl's chaos whenever his designs required a mess. "Don't forget to sound impressed."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Andrea assured him.

It was the first evening in a week which he got to spend in company he actually enjoyed, and who weren't waiting for him to either slip up and expose a vulnerability, or indicate an appropriate gift to assure his cooperation. Aside from Carl's attempts to bribe him into coming along to Sweden for a few days in winter, an idea which was simply ludicrous and, Andrea was convinced, not something any normal person would ever do voluntarily. Wills seemed happy at the idea, of course, but that had to be down to the fact that even after six years, he was still thoroughly in love with his husband.

It didn't take much to spot the small gestures between them, the casual touches and quick glances which mirrored what passed between Andrea and Tatiana with the ease of long familiarity. Settled, he thought, Tatiana's hand on his shoulder as she leaned against him and listened to Carl explain the intention behind the design of his cast-iron candlesticks, supposed to match the firescreen he'd done a while ago. Settled, and absolutely content at the idea.

Drawing her more tightly against himself, he dropped a quiet kiss to the spot behind her ear. "Love you," he whispered, smiling when he heard her murmured reply.

Carl treated them to an amused look, but didn't pause in his description of the casting process and the history behind the patterns he'd used. Straightening up, Andrea flashed him an innocent smile, only to find himself distracted again by Tatiana, now comfortably leaning with her back against him.

"You know," Carl said, now openly grinning, "if I'm boring you..."

Tatiana tilted her head, her hair brushing against Andrea's cheek. "We're paying attention," she assured him.

"I can see that," Carl agreed, a mournful expression on his face which he had to have learned from Theodora. "Just not to me."

"Too much art this week," Andrea admitted, and Tatiana's hands briefly tightened on his own. "But the candlesticks are nice. And I'm not just saying that because I like you."

His friend just laughed. "Flatterer. Just for that, I'll send you a pair."

"And you'd better put them somewhere visible," Wills added with mock seriousness, stepping up to his husband to deliver a quick cuddle. "Or I'll hold you responsible for making up for that lack of appreciation."

Andrea gave them a lazy smile. "I'll appreciate you all you want," he drawled, then gasped when Tatiana's elbow poked his side. "On a purely artistic level, of course."

"It better had be," she murmured, though he could hear the teasing in her voice. "Carl, are you going to leave the sticks as they are now, or will you work with glaze and polish? I like the changes in surface structure, but I imagine it would look good with an all-over smoothness too."

The two of them quickly struck up a cheerful conversation on iron malleability, modernist designs and Swedish versus British symbolism approaches, her art history background a perfect complement to Carl's more practical training and outlook. For a few minutes, Andrea did his best to follow the discussion, but when Wills caught his eye and quietly nodded his head towards the door, he took up the suggestion and sneaked out with him to let their artists talk without needing to pause and explain matters. Instead, the two of them migrated to the couch for beer, footie and, almost inevitably, the newest gossip on the royal circuit, pausing only when a loud clang of metal sounded from the other room.

Wills buried his face in his hands for a moment, then straightened up. "Carl! Remember what Alex said about dropping heavy stuff on what's the ceiling of their nursery?"

"Sorry!"

They'd just settled down again with fresh bottles of beer and the highlights of the day's Premier League games when the unmistakable echo of a hammer hitting metal could be heard.

"Carl!"

"We're just fixing a dent!" Tatiana called back. "Give us a minute!"

Wills and Andrea exchanged helpless looks.

"Is there any point in arguing with her?" Wills asked.

Andrea shook his head. "I wouldn't bother," he said, wincing when a particularly bang resounded through the apartment. "Or dare."

"Alex is going to complain," Wills said, carefully putting his beer down on the low table before them, as though he were afraid of making even the smallest noise. "With good reason, too. And she'll be all sweet and understanding about it, and that's going to make it even worse."

"Good thing you no longer live right above your father?" Andrea suggested.

The grimace on the other man's face was answer enough. "I'll take Alex over that any day."

With a sympathetic sigh, Andrea sank lower on the couch, not quite coincidentally coming to lean against Wills. He didn't have any particular intentions behind the move; it was simply comfortable, and Wills was nicely within reach and much more convenient than finding a cushion, even though that might have been softer than his shoulder.

It earned him a bemused glance, along with a grumble somewhere between irritation and confusion, but Wills didn't make any attempts to get away. He simply straightened up a little and let Andrea find an agreeable position again, all warm and solid. By the time Tatiana and Carl had finished whatever they'd been doing - forging metal armour, from the sound of it - Andrea had almost drifted off into a nap, and Wills had even been considerate enough to turn down the volume of the TV.

"Comfortable?" Tatiana asked, eyebrows raised at the sight. At her side, Carl was quivering with the effort not to laugh.

Andrea blinked up at her. "Very," he told her.

"Too comfortable to come to bed with me?"

Andrea turned his head to glance at Wills. "Sorry," he murmured. "But you really don't compare to her."

Wills gave him a flat look and shrugged his shoulders, effectively bumping Andrea off his cosy makeshift pillow. "Carl doesn't complain."

"Carl doesn't know what he's missing," Andrea drawled as he drew himself upright, then got to his feet after a last affectionate pat for Wills.

Tatiana's expression would have been reason for worry if he hadn't seen the glint of laughter in her eyes. "Do you want me to leave you to sleep on the couch and take Carl to bed instead?" she asked.

All three of them looked at her.

"No?" Andrea offered after a moment's hesitation.

She reached for his wrist to get him moving. "Good."

One of the disadvantages of living in what officially was a historical building was that thanks to thick walls, only theoretical insulation and downright medieval architecture, life was not nearly as comfortable there as it could be in a modern apartment. In Monaco it was all about the permanent drafts, strong enough to blow out candles. In Clarence House, London's November fog seemed to creep through the walls despite the insistence from Wills that everything had been renovated and perfectly insulated, and that the cold was just in Andrea's mind. As far as Andrea was concerned, that was much, much worse.

He found his way under the sheets, careful not to walk any more than absolutely necessary on the cold floor, and curled himself around Tatiana as soon as she joined him.

"Surely it's not that bad," she murmured, chuckling when he tucked his nose against the crook of her neck.

"I'm cold," he tried plaintively. "Carl and Wills spend far too much time in Arctic wastelands, they don't notice it anymore."

Dropping a kiss against his hair, Tatiana turned around so he could nestle close, and flinched when he tried to warm his icy fingers against her belly. "Keep that up and you'll find out just how cold it is on the sofa, without anyone to cuddle up to," she grumbled, but reached down to take his hands between her own, much warmer ones.

"Cruel," he said and shifted closer, then had to pause to draw up the sheet around them and ward off the chill air. "What if I'd rather stay here with you?"

"Depends on what you come up with to convince me. But if you're really cold, perhaps I should see if Wills and Carl wouldn't be willing to let you share..." She trailed off as he rolled them, careful to keep his full weight off her, and rose up to catch his mouth in a firm kiss. "What's it going to be?"

He pretended to think even as he pressed closer against her, the need for warmth beginning to give way to the desire for an altogether other kind of heat. "Perhaps I can offer a bargain," he suggested, trailing a teasing hand down along her side, enough to make her squirm for a moment, a frown appearing on her face which he knew so well and which always promised good things to come.

"A bargain?" she asked, tipping her head back against the cushions in a sight far too inviting to resist. He leaned down to nuzzle at her chin, felt the chuckle rise from her throat at the gesture and moved lower, his kisses and nips accompanied by her encouraging murmurs.

"A bargain," he confirmed as her hand wound into his hair to keep him in place, petting and caressing for a little while. "Like this..." A lick along her collar bone to the sensitive spot by her shoulder he knew so well. "Or this..." he continued, his fingers trailing a teasing pattern down from the dip of her throat to her breasts. "Perhaps this..." He worked his knee between her thighs, wordlessly suggestive.

His only answer was an impatient growl before he was dragged upwards and into a kiss that left him with no doubt whatsoever that his offer had been accepted. Another growl, a push, a shove and they were rolling again until she smirked down at him, looking thoroughly pleased at the change in position, her dark hair trailing across his chest in a feathery caress.

They held each other's gaze for a moment and he watched, waited until her posture softened and she sank down again, her mouth finding his for a slow, deep kiss.

"Still cold?" she murmured and he just shook his head, smiling when she leaned back just far enough to rub her nose against his before moving in again, licking his lips open and teasing him to play. Another kiss shared between them, and then there wasn't much thinking for a while.

***

Breakfast in England always turned out to be a shocking amount of food, and when you were a guest in one of the palaces, the staff seemed determined to outdo themselves. A small army of chafing dishes had been set up on the side board, along with toast, fresh baguette - presumably a concession to the quasi-French background of the guests - and a number of other dishes which could, with some stretch of the imagination, be called breakfast food. It would have been enough to feed the entire staff, not just the six of them. At least Harry, Alex and little James had come downstairs as well to help them make at least a token effort at eating what had been served.

Andrea wrinkled his nose at the heaping plates and got a double espresso from the coffee machine in the corner, then prepared a second cup for Tatiana and carried it to the table for her.

"Is that all you're having?" Wills asked, a disapproving glance at the empty place setting before Andrea and the single small croissant on Tatiana's plate.

Andrea shrugged. "Coffee," he murmured and raised the cup to his mouth.

"Too early for real food," Tatiana added, somewhat more eloquently. "There'll be time for that later."

Wills was still looking at them and frowning. "If you'd like anything else, I'm sure the kitchen can come up with something."

They both only shook their heads. "Thank you, but there's no need for that," Tatiana assured him, and passed half of her croissant on to Andrea in what probably was intended as a placating gesture.

"Oh, leave them to their caffeine fix," Harry told his brother from the other side of the table. "Continentals, you know they're a bit weird."

"Harry!" The tone in which Alex said his name was mild, but it was enough to make her husband duck his head and suddenly find his scrambled eggs intensely fascinating. "We haven't had company for breakfast for a while," she told Tatiana with a wink. "Looks like we're a bit out of training."

"At least you can get a straight sentence out of him," Tatiana said amicably. "With Andrea, I'm counting myself lucky if he can string two words together before his first espresso."

Andrea cast her a quick glance to judge her mood. "S'not true," he murmured.

She leaned over to peck his cheek. "It could be worse," she said. "Guillaume brings his own supplies whenever he visits because he never trusts in the availability of coffee at all times."

Alex blinked at that, and Andrea figured that she hadn't had much to do with their Hereditary Grand Duke and his little quirks so far. "Surely it cannot be that bad?"

"He's got the cutest little French press, perfect for travel." Tatiana tore a bite-sized piece off her croissant and dipped it in her coffee, then brought it to her mouth. "Absolutely addicted, that man," she said once she'd swallowed. "If you want to torture him, switch the coffee to decaf without telling him."

Andrea shuddered at the thought and hid behind his cup. He wasn't above teasing Guillaume, but that would really go too far. And besides, one such experience would be enough to make him bring not just his French press, but also a kettle and his own supply of coffee beans, so that would only be counter-productive.

"Better don't do that," Carl told her. "Do you want to imagine how bristly he'd get if you came between him and his caffeine fix? I'm not sure even Amedeo would dare."

"Guillaume's got his priorities straight in that regard," Tatiana agreed, pinching another bite of croissant. "But he's getting better. Last time they visited us, he barely complained when we went out on the yacht overnight and forgot that the pantry wasn't stocked."

Wills raised an eyebrow. "Guillaume on caffeine withdrawal?"

"It wasn't as bad as it sounds. He was cranky, but Amedeo just kept petting him until he stopped growling."

"Amedeo is a brave man," Alex remarked with a smile.

Andrea snorted. "Amedeo is a Habsburg," he corrected. "That's not bravery, it's their own dynastic brand of crazy."

An amused expression in his eyes, Wills placed half a slice of buttered toast in front of him in a silent command. "You're one to talk. Didn't we determine that you've got Habsburgs in your ancestry as well?"

The toast even had honey on top. Andrea frowned down at it. "Rumours only," he murmured, and sighed quietly when he finished off his coffee. He briefly contemplated getting another cup, but decided against it. If Wills was already at the point of forcing food on him, it might be better not to risk his disapproval.

They kept up the banter while they all finished breakfast. Wills kept glancing at Andrea until he took at least a few token bites of toast, even though he then had to reward himself by stealing the last mouthful of coffee from Tatiana's cup. As far as he was concerned, solid food had no place in breakfast, but he knew the Brits begged to differ in that regard. At least Wills hadn't tried to etch patterns into the honey to make the toast look more appealing.

"What have you two planned for today?" Alex asked, laying her napkin beside her plate on the table. "You aren't here on official business, are you?"

"Semi-official," Tatiana answered, "we're visiting a Monegasque designer who's been working in London for a while, and we thought-"

The sound of a polite cough from the doorway made her trail off, and Andrea saw the faint hint of uncertainty on her face before he turned to look in that direction. If someone managed to throw Tatiana off stride, it was a sign for alarm.

He had told her about his run-in with Charles, of course, so it made sense that the sight of the Prince of Wales, immaculately turned out in a dove-grey three-piece suit, would make her cautious. Tatiana might have no compunctions about challenging Albert, but he was a known quantity while Charles was practically impossible to predict.

"William, Harry." Just their names, not a word of greeting, and not even the barest acknowledgement of their spouses or their Monegasque guests.

To Andrea's side, Wills straightened in his chair. "Good morning," he offered, his tone abruptly formal. A glance at Tatiana, who had never met Charles before, but Wills didn't make a move to introduce her.

"And a good morning to you," Charles returned, a sweeping glance across their assembly before focusing on Wills again. "You will remember that we are hosting a reception tonight for the Royal Horticultural Society, I trust."

By now Andrea knew Wills well enough to spot the hint of a pained look in his eyes. "We've been notified. Carl and I will make an appearance if you wish." He sounded absolutely thrilled by the idea, too.

Charles gave a minute nod of acknowledgment. "It will be enough if you come alone, William," he said. "This is a traditional patronage of the British Royal Family, after all."

"Of which Carl is a part." Casual tone, casual remark. "We will be present."

Across the table, Carl looked less than excited at the prospect but nodded silently in agreement after exchanging a quick look with Wills.

"Very well." Charles was good at hiding his thoughts, Andrea had to leave him that. "But remember that this is an official event, and that these are not suitable circumstances for private guests."

As though Wills didn't know that, or Andrea and Tatiana would have invited themselves along. By now, Andrea was surprised he did not have Wills and Carl as refugees in Monaco more often. This no longer was a chill atmosphere, the temperature had long dropped far below zero.

"Naturally," Wills agreed.

One last scathing look at them, then Charles turned around and left. They all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"I know he's your father," Alex said quietly. "But sometimes..."

Tossing his napkin on the table, Wills pushed back his chair with a loud scrape across the wooden floor. "I know," he said and rose to his feet, a quick step bringing him to stand behind Carl, who was still seated, an uneasy expression on his face. "I know, and it's the only reason why I'm playing along." His hands came to rest on Carl's shoulders in a tight grip. "Sorry for that," he said and leaned down to drop a kiss against Carl's dark hair.

"Hardly your fault," Carl told him, one of his hands coming up to cover his husband's. "Who knows, one day he might come around."

"Yeah, sure," Harry muttered. "And Hell's going to freeze over."

***

After a day out in London, they spent the evening upstairs with Harry and Alex, safely out of sight and earshot of the illustrious, exalted guests of the Prince of Wales. It rankled to be so blatantly disregarded, but while Andrea would have been quietly subversive if it had been Albert to give such a command, he wasn't about to risk it with Charles. Wills and Carl would be the ones to suffer for it, for one thing. And even if this hadn't been about causing trouble for his friends, the Prince of Wales was not someone Andrea cared to offend. Too much political clout there, official and on the royal circuit; far too much for him to pick as an enemy.

At least, not yet. If an opportunity happened to present itself...

"Thank you for dinner," Tatiana said as she helped Alex to tidy away the dishes. It had come as a surprise to Andrea to see that Harry and Alex took care of their own needs where cooking was concerned, but it made sense when he thought about it. If this morning's breakfast had been an illustration of what could happen if you relied on the main staff of Clarence House to provide food, then it was understandable that they preferred to avoid communal meals whenever possible.

Alex waved off and took the stack of plates from Andrea's hands to put it down on the kitchen counter. "There'd have been no point in letting you two sit upstairs and wait for Wills and Carl by yourselves. Besides, if you're here with us, chances are that the Prince won't want to drop in on us tonight."

"Doesn't appreciate continental riff-raff on the premises, does he?" Andrea asked. It was hard to stay diplomatic about the issue when he was becoming more and more aware just how much of a problem this had to be for Wills, Harry and their partners.

Alex sighed. "Not just continental, he doesn't like me much either. Of course, I'm to blame for causing a scandal around Harry and kicking him out of the line of succession, so it makes perfect sense."

"Last time I checked, it took two to make a baby," Tatiana remarked. "And you won't convince me that Harry wasn't an active participant."

"Very active, actually," Alex said, winking. "But I'm the one who seduced poor Harry, if you listen to the Prince, so I must be treated with contempt and have to be shown my place on occasion. It's the punishment for my terrible crimes."

"What crimes?" Harry asked, bringing the last glasses from the table.

"Sleeping with you," Alex told him. She took the glasses from him and rose up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Is James in bed yet?"

Harry nodded. "Three pages of the sheep story and he was out like a light. Gran always wears him out, I'm surprised he made it that far."

Alex gave him another kiss before turning to sort the glasses into the dishwasher, so very normal, almost as if she were a regular person and not the Duchess of Sussex. Then again...

"Gran?" Andrea simply had to ask. "You mean the Queen?"

Harry gave him the sort of look that said he had no idea why Andrea was asking something so obvious. "Sure, who else? She gets James every Thursday evening so Alex and I have a few quiet hours."

"The Queen of England babysits for you?" Tatiana sounded as though she found it just as hard to believe as Andrea.

"You get used to the idea," Alex said and shut the dishwasher, glasses clattering. "James is her only great-grandchild living in London, so she likes to see him. And he adores her by now, there's no way we could keep him from visiting anymore. Besides, we've got to compensate, it's not like she's going to get great-grandkids from Wills and Carl."

Andrea couldn't help wondering whether Alex wasn't also very much aware that having the approval of the Queen for little James meant that Charles couldn't be too direct when it came to making their lives difficult. A pregnancy out of wedlock was a lot more serious for the Brits than for anyone else, and Alex could just as well have been paid off for her silence, or relegated to the sidelines somewhere. With the Queen's acceptance of their son, matters for Harry and Alex were much simpler than they would have been otherwise.

"Is that why you stay here?" Tatiana asked. "Because Buckingham Palace is just around the corner?"

"In part, yes," Alex said and rose up to take fresh glasses from one of the cupboards. "But it's complicated."

Harry moved in to help her, easily reaching up to the top shelf, which would have been a stretch for her. "Days like today make it tempting to move, but most of the time we don't catch too much heat. Dad shouts on occasion, but that's it and after thirty years of it, I really can't say it makes much of an impression anymore." The grin which accompanied that statement clearly suggested that it had never left much of an impression at the best of times. Andrea remembered some of the juicier headlines involving Harry in his wilder years, and if Charles hadn't been able to stop him then, he was hardly going to succeed now. "But while we're here, Wills and Carl aren't permanently in the line of fire. They already have to deal with a lot more than we do."

"Going against family traditions is worse when you're heir?" Andrea guessed.

Opening the fridge, Harry took out a few bottles of beer, then, when Alex shot him a disapproving look, delved deeper to unearth a carton of orange juice as well. "It sure as hell hasn't helped that Carl's Carl and not Carla. Dad still doesn't think that they'll last, never mind that they're rock solid. As far as he's concerned, if there's more than one cock involved, it can't possibly be a real relationship."

"Harry..." Alex murmured.

Her husband shot her a disarming grin. "I've heard you say worse, dear."

"Not in front of guests, you haven't."

He waved off. "Andrea doesn't count, he's got nude pictures of himself on the internet, he's hardly going to faint of shock. And Tatiana..." He trailed off and gave the woman in question an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Kind of forgot about you for a moment."

Tatiana demurely fluttered her eyelashes at him. "You're forgiven. I'm such a demure, dainty little flower after all." She poured herself half a glass of orange juice, then cast Andrea an inquiring look and poured another when he nodded. "Crude language absolutely terrifies me." She picked up the two glasses. "And now tell me you've got some vodka to top these up so I can combat the shock."

***  
 _December 2015_  
***

A year ago, the gala on World AIDS Day had been a resounding success. The highest sum ever of raised charity money for two research and outreach projects, carefully chosen by Andrea's mother for their thorough approach, had only been one result. The guest list had proved to be of equal importance; every famous name earned publicity, which earned money in the shape of donations. And last year, a good selection of the young royals in Europe had given the media something to talk about for days on end, always mentioning the cause and the importance of paying attention to it all.

This year, Albert had taken over as official patron again. If something garnered so much public attention, then it simply had to be with him at the helm; there was no way he'd allow anyone else to have the headlines which were his by right. Andrea's mother had smiled sweetly, handed it all over to him, and had spent the last few weeks gleefully rubbing her hands while making sympathetic noises at her younger brother whenever he complained that things weren't going as they should.

Ticket sales were down when they'd never had any trouble to sell every last spot. It was charity, after all, and the people who bought the seats at the gala dinner spent more in pocket money on any given day. But they needed it to be interesting, and Albert wasn't providing that, especially when it became obvious that last year's influx of blue-bloods wouldn't repeat itself. The invitations to the European courts came back with polite apologies, and more than one added the excuse that they'd been present last year because Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Hanover, had been the event's hostess. Andrea's mother had carefully made notes of who'd ostensibly come because of her, and was probably sending out thank you letters by now to maintain the connections.

"We'll give it a miss this year," Amedeo had told him on the phone a few days after the invitations had gone out. "Unless you personally want us there. We'll come for you, but other than that..."

"Don't bother," Andrea had assured him. "The fewer people have to suffer through that caricature of a gala, the better. Wills and Carl aren't coming either, they've managed to find an urgent appointment in Scotland for a few days."

He knew that his friends would have participated if he'd asked them, and that was enough for him. This was not his event, it was not his problem if the guest list was far from glamorous and the money generated would be abysmal. Albert's pride would force him to make up the difference to last year's results out of his own pocket, so that wasn't an issue. As for the attention to the cause, Andrea had already scouted a few possibilities where he could make a personal statement which would get just as much attention as a mediocre gala.

In the end, it was a matter of looking reasonably entertained for a few hours while his uncle tried to make the gala all about himself, and occasionally seemed to forget about the reasons why they were there in the first place. Or why they were not there, in the case of the quarter or so of the guests who'd bought tickets in the end (or been gifted with them by the Prince's office) and had not bothered to show up.

Dinner was a boring affair, punctuated by far too many speeches by Albert's flunkies who had little to do with it all. Andrea listened, applauded politely, and breathed a deep sigh of relief when it was all over. Even the food had been horrible this time, in the way only incredibly expensive cuisine could be.

The party afterwards promised to be just as uninteresting, and Andrea had decided in advance to escape as soon as he reasonably could. There was no point in staying; the cameras had already left - without a need for a police escort this year - and there were no people here he particularly cared to impress. Tatiana had not even bothered to attend; she'd taken the girls over to Nice to amuse themselves in a far more entertaining way there. Andrea wished he could have gone too, but that would have been understood as an open declaration of war. So he could just hope that at least Tatiana had some fun, and generally grit his teeth and get on with it.

There were some forms of entertainment to be had, however, even though they were highly informal. He'd seen the guest list earlier, and two names in particular had stood out, not just because they were among the handful of genuine high nobility in attendance.

"Ah, there you are!" he called, a grin on his face when he finally discovered his prey in one of the quieter salons, cautiously watching the crowd.

Amedeo's brother and Guillaume's sister turned towards him, faintly alarmed expressions on their faces when they recognised him.

"We've been trying not to attract too much attention," Joachim said, shaking his hand in greeting. "I'm not sure I should say this, but some of the people here are just too weird."

And that from a Habsburg. Andrea suppressed a sigh. "Monegasque politicians," he said with a shrug. "There isn't much we can do about them except hope that they'll remember to behave themselves."

"That didn't work." Alexandra looked around, frowning when she spotted two members of the Conseil d'Etat in the corner. "I've had hands on my arse tonight that weren't my own."

Andrea followed the direction of her glower and sighed for real when he remembered a few recent incidents with these two. "Want me to kick them out?" he offered.

Alexandra waved off, the sweeping gesture causing her drink to slosh over the rim of her glass. "No, I'll just be all royally offended and slap them if they try again. That's not going to cause trouble, is it?"

"Not for you," Andrea said. "But if you want me to do something, tell me. Guillaume called a few days ago to make me swear that I'll keep an eye on you so you are perfectly safe."

It had been one of their stranger conversations, Guillaume all determined that his little sister would be safe from harm, and Andrea attempting to resist the urge to tease him over the fact that this little sister had grown up with four brothers and was perfectly capable of keeping herself out of harm's way. Andrea didn't know her well enough yet to entirely have her measure, but from what he'd seen so far, Guillaume really had no reason to worry.

Joachim had balls to strike up a relationship with her although, Andrea reflected, maybe he hadn't been given much of a choice about it. Alexandra did not seem like the sort of woman you easily told no.

"Are you two official now, by the way?" he asked.

They stared at him, which was answer in itself. After a second, Joachim took a very careful step away from Alexandra.

"I am not sure what you mean," he said loftily. "I've just come along so Alexandra won't have to fend for herself, and so we both can practise our international diplomacy, that's all."

Andrea smirked at him. "International diplomacy? Is that what they call it these days? Well, I assume it fits, with her from Luxembourg and you from Belgium, and an Austrian archduke on top of it." He paused, eyebrows waggling. "You are on top, I assume?"

Alexandra sputtered. Joachim started to go red.

"Careful," Andrea told him. "If you've got all the blood in your head, she won't have much use for you."

"I'm starting to see what Guillaume is on about when it comes to you." From the sound of it, Alexandra was either about to break down into tears, or crack up laughing.

Andrea simply smiled and helped himself to a fresh glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "Your brother is a little irrational at times," he said, doing his best impression of angelic innocence, the one he'd learned from Theodora. "I'm perfectly nice and harmless. Ask Carl. Or Wills."

Joachim collected two glasses too and passed one to Alexandra. "Because those two are such perfect references for judging normalcy. Wills has Harry for a brother, he wouldn't know normal if it bit him in the arse." A quick sip, then his expression turned more serious again. "Where Alexandra and I are concerned... I am sure you agree that there is no need to worry our brothers about it. Or anyone else, for that matter."

Another hidden relationship? Andrea was beginning to wonder whether he and Tatiana had missed something by being out in the open practically from the start. "I don't know," he said airily. "Could be fun to watch Guillaume's reaction at hearing that his beloved little sister has taken up with his husband's brother." He gave them both a curious look. "When did that start, anyway? Must have been before their wedding, right? After all, Wills and Carl caught you there."

They looked at each other. "See, I told you I heard something that night," Alexandra muttered. "They know too?"

Andrea treated her to an open grin. "I'm assuming they got an eyeful."

She sighed. "Ah well. Could be worse."

"Could have been Amedeo and Guillaume," Joachim agreed. "That, we'd definitely have noticed."

"Yes, because we'd have had to scrape Guillaume off the floor in that case." Alexandra shook her head, toying with the stem of her glass for a second before she raised her chin to look Andrea squarely in the eye. "You won't tell, will you? You are far too nice for that."

He chuckled. "As if I'd stand in the way of young love. And pass up a chance to watch Guillaume squirm once he finds out. Did you enjoy the fact that you're sharing a suite, by the way?"

They frowned at him, suspicion clear on their faces. "That was you?" Alexandra asked carefully.

"Of course. I also sent you that gift basket with all the condoms and the suggestively shaped fruit and the toys." The latter had come out of the latest assembly for Wills and Carl, but under the circumstances, Andrea was sure they wouldn't mind having to wait a few more days for their next little package. They'd be far too busy laughing once they heard of this, for one thing.

Eyes narrowed, Alexandra exchanged a quick glance with Joachim, then turned back to him. "You," she said slowly, "are evil."

Andrea grinned. "I told you. Perfectly nice and harmless." He sipped at his champagne. "If you need any more condoms, just let me know. It is World AIDS Day after all, we've got the downstairs dungeons full with the stuff." He paused to give them a suggestive wink. "And in case you need a dungeon..."

***

"And their brothers haven't figured it out yet?" Tatiana asked the next day, Andrea's head in her lap as she slowly petted his hair. A lazy morning in bed; he did not really have the time for it - he might not have responsibilities, but he certainly had paperwork by now - but after the tension of being on display for the gala, he needed a few hours to unwind.

"Guillaume probably thinks of Alexandra as perfectly innocent," Andrea murmured, almost purring at having Tatiana's attention like this. "I have no idea about Amedeo, but if he knows, he hasn't said anything."

Tatiana considered it, then shook her head. "Not something he'd keep from Guillaume. And in that case, we'd have heard of it." She bent down, and Andrea raised his head to close the distance between them and kiss her, smiling when her tongue flicked against his lips for a tempting moment. "Don't tease them too much, will you? They're cute."

"They're another pair of Nassau and Habsburg," Andrea told her, his best concerned impression on his face. "And they're much worse than their big brothers. At least Amedeo and Guillaume won't breed."

"Poor you." Tatiana resumed her petting, her free hand settling on Andrea's chest to keep him down as she leaned in for another kiss. "I'm sure they're doing it just to vex you."

Andrea nodded solemnly in agreement. "It's a devious plot," he agreed. "Ask Wills and Carl, they'll confirm it."

One delicate eyebrow arched, she looked at him, her fingers unerringly finding the sensitive spot at his side that never failed to make his breath quicken under her attentions. "Perhaps later. Right now, I think, we don't need to involve those two."

He winked up at her. "I don't know. Could be interesting."

She poked his side, hard enough to make him gasp with surprise and laughter, and try to curl up and protect himself. "That really isn't what I want you to think about right now," she told him.

"It isn't?" he asked innocently and turned his head to nip at the soft skin of her belly, then lick away the sting. "What would you like me to think about, then?"

Her hand tightened in his hair, making him glance up at her, and the look in her eyes was enough that he simply had to rise up and kiss her, his entire attention focused on her scent and taste and the smooth slide of her body against his as she settled in his arms.

"Right now," she whispered in his ear, her hand on still on his chest and slowly moving lower, "I don't want you to think about anything at all."

The gesture was enough to make him shiver, and it took an effort not to draw her even closer and instead let her go ahead and explore, her touches far too knowing after all their time together. Tatiana shot him an impish smile, far too aware of the effect she had on him, the effect she'd always have on him, and covered his mouth with her own in time to swallow his surprised moan when she reached between them, chuckling at the helpless buck of his hips.

"Don't be so impatient," she chided, laughter in her voice, in her eyes, in her sharply drawn breath as he drew her close.

"As though that's my fault." He licked at the corner of her mouth, insistent, teasing until she gave in and let him have the deep kiss he wanted, her wordless sounds of encouragement driving on his own explorations. Not that he needed them; he knew every inch of her body, every sweet spot and just the right touch for it, and at the same time it was this intimate familiarity with each other that kept them safe from ever falling into routines.

She permitted him have the lead for a little while, following his plans and matching his intensity, her quickening breath and the tightening grip of her hands on his arms telltale signs that her patience was wavering. Which was half the fun, anyway, and he kept on deliberately teasing and playing until she broke their kiss to nip at his jaw, sharp enough to make him gasp.

"Can you wear a high collar today?" The nuzzle down along the side of his throat that accompanied the question made it plain why Tatiana wanted to know, and he just tilted his head to give her better access in response.

"Doesn't matter," he told her, sighing contentedly at the sensation of her mouth hot against his skin, licking and sucking, and he knew she'd leave a mark and was happy to let her. They were having fun together, and he wasn't going to hide the evidence of that as though it were something to be embarrassed about.

He didn't resist when she began to push him down and instead drew her with him, unwilling to relinquish even the smallest bit of contact between them. There was something about the curve of her hips that made him focus his caresses there, his fingertips mapping out a path from the soft dip of her waist across her flank and down the smooth length of her inner thigh, then back up again, only to repeat the move until she was grumbling at him with impatience.

"Stop teasing," she ordered with a laugh, the sudden touch of her hand on his cock a thorough distraction, and he had to make an effort to keep his moves slow and deliberate as he rolled them to settle above her.

"But teasing is fun," he countered, shifting against her and feeling her press closer in response. Tatiana reached up to draw him into a kiss, gentle at first before it turned demanding, her hands tangled tightly in his hair to keep him in place. As though he wanted to be anywhere else than here with her.

***  
 _January 2016_  
***

Another week, another charity gala, or so it felt during the winter. Albert was dumping all his invitations on Andrea by now, and his schedule was so full that he was seriously wondering whether there still was anything left for his uncle to actually do. Andrea sat in on all council meetings - without the right to say anything or even ask questions, of course, which essentially turned him into a glorified note-keeper - and represented Albert at all events which his uncle deemed undeserving of the Princely Presence. That meant four or five evenings in Monaco every week, along with international duties now and then.

For the Monegasque appointments he could at least bring Tatiana along. The people knew her, they were used to seeing her with Andrea, and he was very careful not to cross any lines of propriety and protocol with her. They weren't married, so she held no official position but since Andrea himself was not an actual prince, neither did he. It gave them enough leeway to manoeuvre, and he was glad for it. Having Tatiana by his side made fulfilling his duties much more bearable; she was much better at mingling than he could ever hope to be, and always kept an eye on him in case he needed rescuing from irritating people who refused to take his hints. Andrea couldn't brush them off for fear of causing an incident, but if Tatiana interrupted, all charm and innocence, it usually caused enough of a distraction to let him escape.

He wasn't nearly that lucky when it came to international duties. Here he had to come alone; while nobody would be all that surprised if he brought Tatiana, he knew it would cause whispers about Grimaldi oddities and a lack of manners behind his back. Albert already did enough to ruin their house's reputation, the last Andrea wanted to do was add to it. So he went alone, and missed Tatiana more with every minute she wasn't there.

Madeleine's London fundraiser for Childhood was going well that evening; money raised, attention gained, a charity auction conducted (the main prize, a dinner with the gracious hostess, resulted in a bidding war between Prince Andrew, intent on some fun, and Carl, intent on keeping his sister safe from said fun).

"Andrew knows that she's married, doesn't he?" Andrea asked, hands carelessly stuffed into the pockets of his suit jacket as he watched Madeleine console the Duke of York over his defeat and attempt to get him to donate nonetheless.

Philippos shrugged. "Wouldn't necessarily stop him, I think," he said. They'd been seated together at dinner - the curse of being male and without their own female company at these events, when women were too rare to provide everyone with a dinner partner of the opposite gender. Andrea had hoped he could borrow Theodora, or at least share her with her brother, but she'd snatched up Joachim as her dinner partner before either of them could make a move. Profoundly unfair, considering that he could have his own lady to escort if only he and Alexandra would finally make a move and admit that they were together.

"He's in for a surprise if he keeps on trying, that much is for certain." Andrea fiddled with his cuff link, which had sat badly for the entire evening already, but still couldn't get it straight. "Madde is hardly defenceless."

Philippos nodded in agreement, then raised a hand to wave. A few moments later, another member of their group of unaccompanied males joined them, though Amedeo had compensated for the lack of his husband by simply attaching himself to Wills and Carl for the evening. Andrea wished he'd thought of that first.

"Hiding in a corner?" Amedeo wanted to know, eyebrows raised as he took in their retreat, safely behind one of the decorative columns which created a calmer, quieter spot.

"It seemed safest," Andrea told him, moving in to kiss him first on the cheek and then the lips in a friendly greeting. "Too many princesses on the prowl."

"Bring your own next time so she can protect you," Amedeo told him, turning to Philippos. "Did they let you off the leash for tonight? I haven't seen you for a while."

"You know how it goes. Half the time it's work obligations, and the other half I'm trying not to attend anything that gives my parents any ideas about turning me into a full-time royal." Philippos caught Amedeo in a quick hug, and the peck on the cheek looked friendly enough that Andrea was not sure whether Amedeo would permit that if he had Guillaume standing next to him.

Probably, he decided. If only to immunize Guillaume a little more against casual gestures like that.

"Good luck with the avoiding," Amedeo told Philippos when he stepped back again. "Keep running while you can."

"I'd ask you for advice, but since they caught you..."

Amedeo grinned. "Only because I let them. If it hadn't been for Guillaume, I'd still be in New York and pretending that I've never been called Highness."

Laughing, Philippos patted his shoulder. "Pretend all you want," he said, and the answering chuckle from Amedeo made Andrea wonder whether he was missing something. "Hey, mind keeping an eye on Andrea for me? I need to find Theodora for a moment."

Amedeo waved him off and turned to Andrea once they were left to their own devices. "Need someone to watch over you?" he asked, tone perfectly serious.

"Naturally," Andrea simpered, willingly playing along. "Be my knight in shining armour and rescue me from... well, whatever dangers might await me here."

"Don't joke, you have no idea what could happen if you cross Mary's path tonight." Amedeo visibly shivered. "I swear, she's getting worse with every week."

Andrea hummed in agreement. He'd had a few run-ins with the Danish Crown Princess before, and he wasn't eager to repeat the experience. It was because of people like her that he was painfully thorough when it came to sticking to protocol where Tatiana was concerned; they simply didn't need that sort of hostility.

A glance across the room to where the princess in question presumably devoured her current prey, then Amedeo shook his head, frowned at his empty wine glass and surreptitiously got rid of it on one of the tables behind him. "One more comment about Guillaume and his lack of manners towards women and she's going to find out just how far chivalry extends when it comes to obnoxious, cranky..." he trailed off, swallowing what had obviously been on the tip of his tongue. "He's perfectly polite with everyone else, it's hardly his fault that he can't stand her."

Even after his own run-ins with Guillaume's occasionally frosty demeanour, Andrea had a hard time imagining what could have happened. Guillaume had turned well-mannered hostility into an art form, but he didn't usually overstep any lines. "Good thing he isn't here tonight, then?" he offered, and almost immediately saw that it was the wrong thing to say when Amedeo's face darkened. "Mate, everything all right with the two of you?"

Amedeo sighed, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose in a gesture Andrea was coming to recognise as his attempt to get rid of nervousness. "Yes, just schedule difficulties."

"Again? I thought Wills talked to him?"

"And how would you know about that?" Amedeo asked, tone just a fraction too sharp. Then he shook his head, frowning. "Sorry."

Andrea waved off. "Never mind," he said and gave his friend a firm look. "And don't move, I'll be right back."

Before Amedeo could say anything in response, Andrea went to fetch them a fresh round of drinks. He usually tried to limit himself to a glass or two at these events, but right now he had the feeling that Amedeo could use something to blur the edges, and doing that alone never was fun.

He passed one of the glasses to Amedeo, who took a careful sniff of the vodka, then knocked it back in one go. Eyebrows raised, Andrea held out his own glass in a wordless offer.

Amedeo contemplated it for a moment before he shook his head. "Thank you," he said. "Better not. Theodora might try to drag me off again, she's still telling stories of putting my drunken arse into bed at the wedding of Carl and Wills."

"They're good stories, too," Andrea said, a grin on his face. "So what's with Guillaume?"

"He's still in Lithuania with a trade delegation. They should have been back this morning, but they had to add a last meeting today, and now he's flying directly on to Portugal for a conference." Amedeo shrugged his shoulders, tried for a casual expression and missed it by a mile or two.

Andrea frowned at him. "I thought he'd gotten over that workaholism, at least a little," he said and sipped at his vodka.

"You've seen him on that microstate conference you were at, you know what he's like in those situations. Ten days of it in a row? You can bet he'll pull at least three all-nighters, he'll skip all his lunches and a few dinners, he'll generally run himself ragged, and I'll be the one who gets to pick up the pieces and put him back into working order over the weekend so on Monday he can go on like nothing's happened." Amedeo paused to take a deep breath, the irritation gone from his voice when he continued, replaced by what sounded suspiciously like resignation. "He can't keep that up for much longer. I thought I'd finally gotten it into that stubborn head of his, and having Wills talk to him really helped for a while, but..."

Andrea hummed in wordless commiseration. That Guillaume was on the road straight to burn-out if he didn't change his habits wasn't a secret to any of them, and he knew that Wills had begun to keep an eye on him months ago already. "If you want us to, we can try to stage an intervention," he offered. "Or at least sit him down for another talk, though if even Wills isn't getting through, he'll probably not listen to me either."

Sighing, Amedeo shook his head. "No, but thank you anyway. I just don't think it would look good if you kidnapped him. Never mind how tempting it is sometimes to snatch him and drag him off somewhere without internet and phone access."

"If you ever decide to go ahead with it, I'm sure Charlotte will lend you her island. As long as you promise that it won't cause any trouble because Monaco kidnapped the Hereditary Grand Duke of Luxembourg. I'd hate to have to fend off an invasion."

Amedeo chuckled. "You'd stand no chance, anyway. We'd overrun you in twenty minutes, tops."

"We?" Andrea asked, eyebrows quirked. "Gone native, have you?"

"I did marry the heir to the country."

"So did Carl, but I don't think he'll call himself a Brit anytime soon."

Amedeo quickly looked around. "That's because Brits are a bit weird," he said with a conspiratorial grin. "I wouldn't blame him for that. But it's an easier transition for me than for him anyway, Luxembourg isn't that different from Belgium. Don't tell anyone I said that, though."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Andrea assured him. "And you'll be the next Grand... what are they going to call you, anyway? Grand Ducal Consort? That sounds like a rather intimate job description if you ask me."

Amedeo snorted. "Prince Consort. And I'm not complaining about those implications of the job description."

"As long as Guillaume makes room for you in his schedule." Andrea paused. "He isn't really putting you into his schedule, is he?" The idea seemed absurd, but with Guillaume, you never knew.

The sudden lofty expression on Amedeo's face didn't do much to alleviate his concerns in that regard. "Not usually. But it's a sure-fire way to get him to show up in a certain place at a certain time. His assistant is always willing to conspire with me on that, it's the best way to manage him." He grimaced. "As long as he doesn't run off, like now."

"What are the chances that you can bring him to Monaco next weekend?" Andrea asked. "It's still quiet from the Christmas break, there won't even be anything to attend. Just two days of peace and quiet."

"I'm not sure he could deal with the shock," Amedeo joked, but looked thoroughly tempted by the idea. "I know I'd need to move one of my meetings, but that's with Uncle Henri, he won't protest if it means I can get Guillaume to take a break. Let me get back to you on this once I have a look at Guillaume's schedule and know whether I can clear those days?"

Andrea had the feeling that it wasn't an accidental omission that Amedeo wasn't going to ask Guillaume for his opinion. Which really was the only way to handle the man: deal with it all while he wasn't paying attention and then present him with a fait accompli so he couldn't change anything.

"Take your time, there's no rush. Even if Uncle Albert drafts me, Tatiana will still be to entertain you." He winked. "Assuming you don't have better things to do with your time."

Amedeo cast him an amused look that spoke volumes. "We'll behave ourselves," he said. "Are Wills and Carl going to be there as well?"

"So Wills can go and growl at Guillaume again, you mean?" Andrea shrugged. "I haven't asked them yet, but it's a good idea. Get them in on it too, if there are five people who're relaxing and having fun around Guillaume, he won't resist."

"As though we'd let him even if he tried," Amedeo said and gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you for helping."

Andrea waved off. "Don't worry," he said and leaned in for a friendly peck to the cheek. "All part of the service. And now come on, I need a smoke. You can glower at me if that makes you feel better. "

***  
 _March 2016_  
***

Every time Andrea stepped into his uncle's office - the real office, as opposed to the make-believe office used for meetings and public audiences - he was stunned by the sheer mismatch of styles and colours and tastes, which seemed to grow steadily worse.

When his grandfather had still reigned, the room had been kept in the overall style of the Palais Princier: inlaid marble floors, antique and delicate furniture, the paintings on the wall chosen for their dynastic importance and showcasing some of the more famous ancestors of the Grimaldis (Andrea had always studiously ignored the portrait of Emperor Ferdinand I, and was resolved to never let Amedeo see that one because the teasing about Habsburg ancestors would be merciless). Overall, his grandfather's office had been a room designed not to distract, but still quietly impress anyone who happened to reach this inner sanctum.

With Albert, the intricate inlaid floors were covered up by thick Persian carpets in their house colours, the furniture had been replaced by a jumble of modernist design pieces which would have stood well on their own, but as an ensemble were a riot of colours and styles, and the portraits on the wall were portraits of Albert and his wife, although Andrea suspected that the picture of the latter wouldn't remain up there for much longer. He shuddered to think what it might be replaced by.

Right now, however, his aunt-by-marriage was standing right in front of her portrait, in one of those unflattering shoulder-free dresses she'd been painted in as well. A rare sight; normally the woman couldn't be bothered with anything to do with governing the country she was the Princess of. At times, Andrea was not certain she remembered which country that was in the first place.

An order to attend on Albert never boded well, and Andrea had spent all morning - ever since hearing that he was expected to present himself immediately after the official lunch hour - wondering what he might have done this time. With his aunt-by-marriage present, all bets were off.

"Andrea," his uncle greeted him, but did not rise from his chair behind his wide desk, another piece of interior decoration which would have looked a lot better in the office of a car dealer than in a high-ceilinged palace with stucco ceilings and double-winged doors.

"Uncle Albert," Andrea returned and, after a very pointed second of hesitation added, "Aunt," in her general direction. He knew how much she loathed the reminder that she'd married into the older generation when she was a mere six years older than him.

When nothing was forthcoming, he took a seat in one of the visitor chairs by the desk, leaned back and waited.

"You must be wondering why I asked for you to come," Albert said eventually.

Andrea arched an eyebrow before he caught the gesture and reminded himself not to become too confrontational, no matter how irritating the situation was. His mother would not approve. "I am always happy for a chance to see you."

As usual, Albert took the statement at face value. "Of course you are. The family sense is strong, after all."

It took all Andrea had to keep himself from laughing out loud. Three centuries ago, they'd have had a few family-accelerated funerals over the past years. These days the backstabbing was done only in a figurative sense, but the traditions were still alive and everybody seemed determined to do their best to keep them going. "Exactly. But you are right, I was surprised to hear that you wanted to see me. And so urgently, too."

Not that he had anything better to do than dance attendance on his uncle at a moment's notice. Like prepare for a microfinance conference the day after tomorrow, where he'd essentially invited himself so he could tag along with Guillaume and Amedeo for three days and see how they handled such events. Guillaume especially would be cross if Andrea didn't at least try to do his preparation, now that he'd had a few demonstrations on how to manage it.

"It's been necessary, after your behaviour of the past weeks."

Andrea arched an eyebrow. He considered a talk necessary as well, but probably for reasons other than those of his uncle. As far as he was concerned, the past weeks had been practically unacceptable because he'd done the duties of a full-time working royal without any of the rewards or even the tiniest amount of acknowledgment. Andrea didn't mind at all to lend his name and time to a good cause, but he didn't see why he had to do it so Albert could scamper off to Ireland on a private pleasure trip, when he barely performed representative duties beyond the bare minimum anymore. After all, Albert still was the Prince of Monaco, and until and unless that changed, he'd better act the part.

"My behaviour?" Andrea asked. To his left, his uncle's wife had an almost expectant expression on her face, as much as she could still manage it after all the nips and tucks.

"Your lack of enthusiasm when it comes to fulfilling your duties to me and your country, rather," Albert corrected.

Andrea's eyebrows rose higher. "I beg your pardon?"

"The Rose Ball was only the last example," his uncle said. "You should have brought some of your friends. And you should have been much more involved in it all. If you had shown more of an interest, all the tickets could have been sold, and the press would have reported more. I know it is difficult to understand, dear boy, but Monaco needs the press attention. Your aunt and I are doing our best to represent our country, and we expect your cooperation."

His cooperation? As though that wasn't what he'd done for the past year now, ever since Albert had decided to press-gang him into being ready to attend events at a moment's notice. That he was just a means to an end had been clear from the start, but it was still irritating to hear the opportunism put into words like that.

"My friends?" he asked. "If you mean Prince William and the others..."

His uncle nodded eagerly. Of course, media attention. Andrea wouldn't be in the least surprised to hear that it had been Albert who'd given the paparazzi a heads-up regarding the whereabouts of Andrea's royal guests. "They make for very good publicity, you need to bring them along more often."

"And make them pose for pictures with us," his uncle's wife said. "They hardly ever stand still for long enough."

Given that both Guillaume and Carl had reported having her hand on their arses when they'd happened to come too close to her, Andrea felt that he couldn't blame anyone for keeping their distance. They didn't owe Albert any favours, there was no connection on a personal level to motivate them, and there was nothing they stood to gain by associating themselves with the current Prince of Monaco. Even Guillaume, who among their group attended the most official events with Albert, had admitted once that Monaco had always been a sort of practice ground for the younger generation of Luxembourgian royals since they could hardly mess anything up here, no matter what they did.

"I can hardly make them do something like that," Andrea said.

Albert shrugged. "You are their friend. Ask them for it."

And that was the point his uncle would never get, that thin line between private and public lives. What could you expect of a man who'd married with the stated intention of increasing tourism interest in the country? Who did nothing if there wasn't at least one photographer present to snap his picture and publicise it somewhere? Andrea knew only too well that his friends held power, simply by choosing to appear wherever they did. He shared that, to some degree. But his influence came partly from the Grimaldi background and, to a large extent, from a certain degree of fame and notoriety on the socialite circuit, while his friends commanded power and respect simply for their family history, and the roles they played already and would play in the future. Wills was going to be King of England one day, of course people paid attention to him.

They'd be happy to do Andrea the occasional favour. They already came to events under his patronage, and he knew that being seen with them had increased his standing and given him a more serious appearance. But it was understood between them all that while nobody expected him to ever repay these favours, the reason why they all did it in the first place was because they trusted Andrea to put friendship first and opportunism second.

"Surely you can find something to offer in return," his aunt-by-marriage suggested.

Andrea bit his tongue to keep himself from asking what she considered appropriate, given that she hadn't thought twice about falling into bed with his uncle to cement her position.

Not that he'd necessarily mind these sorts of offers, but he had the suspicion Tatiana would have something to say about the idea. And besides, Guillaume at least would probably keel over in a dead faint at the suggestion.

"And just what should I offer them?" he asked, almost curious to hear her suggestions.

She shrugged, the gesture accentuating her bare shoulders. One day she'd figure out that this style of clothing did not suit her at all, but Andrea wasn't holding his breath in anticipation. "Entertainment," she said. "Money. Other... entertainment."

He blinked at the blunt suggestion. "They are happily married," he managed, his mind still working on wrapping itself around the idea. Idly considering the theoretical possibility was one thing; having someone else label it as a supposedly viable option was quite another. "And you're forgetting about Tatiana."

His uncle's wife gave him a blank look. "That doesn't have to be an obstacle," she said.

And it wasn't for her, he knew, or for Albert for that matter.

"Excuse me," he said, rising to his feet. "I believe we should end this discussion right here."

"Andrea," his uncle said sharply.

He took a few steps towards the door before he turned around again. "This may come as a surprise, but I am not going to cheat on Tatiana with one of our friends for a bit of newspaper attention."

Albert waved off. "She didn't mean it like that."

Andrea didn't bother to ask how he could possibly have misunderstood.

"But you have to agree, it would bring a lot of attention. The newspapers like a scandal, no matter whether it's true or not. If you just hinted..."

At times, he really wanted to know whether his uncle spent at least a moment to think about what he was saying, or what results his suggestions might have. Then again, with that sort of track record, the question essentially answered itself.

"Tatiana is a nice girl," his uncle's wife said. "But she is not a princess. You should try for someone else. Isn't that Greek one single?"

Even after years of practice, it took effort to ignore her. "Uncle Albert, I will see you tomorrow at the Russian embassy's reception." Or not, as these things tended to go; once Albert knew that Andrea was attending and that a representative of Monaco was in place, he usually didn't bother to show up any longer.

He did not wait for the permission to leave before he headed for the door, and they didn't try to call him back.

***

"I can't believe it," he told Tatiana once again that night, curled tightly around her under the bed sheets. He felt cold, and it wasn't just due to the room temperature. "I simply cannot believe it."

Petting his hair, Tatiana indulgently permitted him to tuck his cold nose against her neck. "You mean you aren't going to take up an affair with Theodora behind my back?" she asked, a smile in her voice.

"As though I'd have time for that, what with already seducing the guys."

"Dragging Guillaume into bed with you would require a full-time effort," Tatiana agreed. "Better focus on the easier ones and stick with Wills and Carl."

He couldn't hear any reprimand in her voice, but right now he was not certain how to interpret the statement. "Tatiana, about Carl..."

She flicked his ear, hard enough to make him yelp against the soft skin of her throat. "Don't tell me you are worried about that. You had my permission, and besides, it's been what, seven years ago? He's happy with Wills, anyone can see that, and as for you..." A kiss was pressed against the top of his head and he shifted until she draped one thigh across his legs to let him nestle up against her.

"I love you," he told her.

Tatiana hummed quietly. "And that's why you really don't need to worry about Carl. Or about falling into bed with Wills." The teasing was plain in her tone, and she chuckled when he nipped the tender spot at the dip between her collar bones in response. "They're your friends, and they're my friends too, and even if that weren't enough for me to be sure that nothing's going to happen..." Another kiss, high on his temple this time. "I love you and I trust you. And if your uncle makes the slightest attempt to interfere, he'll regret it."

Not an empty threat, Andrea knew; what power Tatiana held was informal, but that didn't stop her from wielding it. One word from her in the right ear, and Albert would find his affairs placated all across the tabloid front pages. Or, since he might actually think of that as a favour, vanish from the media attention altogether.

"I still can't believe it," he repeated his earlier words. "Asking me to work on getting the interest of the paps is one thing, but that he thinks I'd cheat on you, and with one of our friends no less..."

"At least he's allowing you to choose." Tatiana's fingers caught a snarl in his hair and she carefully untangled it. "I suggest you go for Wills."

Andrea raised his head to meet her eyes. "Wills? Why Wills?"

She nodded. "Maximum potential for scandal. Just think of it: an affair with the future King of England, the first prince in a gay marriage, and of course you'll tragically abandon me so I'll have to console myself with a quick ménage à trois with Guillaume and Amedeo-"

He snorted. "As though Guillaume would have any idea what to do with you," he muttered before claiming her mouth in a possessive kiss, which was firmly returned.

"That's why we'll keep Amedeo around, too," she explained with mock seriousness. "All of that should keep the media occupied for weeks, and that's not even taking into account Madeleine's attempts to avenge her brother by doing unspeakable things to you. It's going to be fantastic."

He had a hard time not to break into laughter at the mere thought of it all. "And what about poor Carl?" he asked.

Tatiana considered for a moment. "Theodora has that nice little brother," she suggested.

"Who's really too young for him."

"Rebound." She kissed the tip of his nose. "Didn't stop him with you either, after all, so it's just perfect. And later he can magnanimously take Wills back once Madeleine has succeeded in making you disappear somewhere in the Swedish wilderness."

He blinked at her. "You know, sometimes you scare me," he told her.

Tatiana fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Not a feasible plan?" she asked.

"Tempting as it may be... no, probably not. I don't fancy being fed to elks. Or wolves, or whatever man-eating monsters they have in those dark Swedish woods." He burrowed down again, his face against her soft hair and inhaled her scent, content for the moment despite all the concerns and problems around them. Resuming her petting, Tatiana let him have some much-needed peace and quiet so he could gather his thoughts, the steady rise and fall of her breaths a soothing rhythm against his cheek.

He needed to do something about all this. If Albert was ready to make such a suggestion, there was no knowing what else he might come up with. Andrea didn't believe that his uncle would do something with malicious intent behind the gesture (his aunt-by-marriage was another matter altogether there), but Albert forgot to consider the consequences far too often. One thoughtless remark, one supposedly sneaky comment to the press, and there might be hell to pay.

"Any idea how I'm going to keep Albert from being an idiot?" he asked. "More than he already is, I mean."

He felt her shrug. "About trying to get you an affair with another blue-blooded junior royal?"

"Exactly. If I'm not careful, he'll arrange for Theodora to need to sleep in my bed. Absolutely accidentally, of course."

Tatiana chuckled. "Could be worse."

"True, it could be a Habsburg," he agreed. "Snuggling up to Wills is one thing, but them... you never know whether their insanity isn't contagious."

"Guillaume would have caught it already in that case," Tatiana remarked.

"My point exactly. Surely you can't consider him normal." Sighing, Andrea kissed the spot behind her ear, then pushed up to look at her in the semi-darkness of their bedroom. "I really don't know what to do about this, " he admitted. "Normally I wouldn't worry, but he liked that idea too much. If he makes one of his foolish remarks, he could cause a lot of trouble. For you, for me, for our friends if he decides to hint that I'm having an affair with someone... Do you want to imagine what the Prince of Wales would do if Albert said something about me and Carl being very close and special friends?"

Tatiana remained silent as she thought, her hand still slowly carding through Andrea's hair. "There's only one thing to do," she said eventually.

He cocked his head and waited for her to go on.

"You'll just have to marry me."

He blinked.

Laughing, she nipped the underside of his jaw. "You should see your face," she murmured. "Pure and utter shock. Scarier than an affair with someone else, is it?"

It was, though he didn't think he should say so.

They'd talked about it on occasion, but it had always been a mostly theoretical option. There was no doubt in their minds that they'd stay together, not when their relationship was still going strong after more than a decade. Marriage had simply never seemed necessary in light of that, though they'd known that one day they'd have to consider it. The simple truth was that if Andrea ever became Prince, their children - and that was another aspect they'd only considered in theory - would be his heirs, and while they didn't have to be born within wedlock, the house law required that their parents married at some point after their birth.

All of which was thoroughly unromantic and pragmatic and not at all what Andrea wanted to think about.

"That frightening, is it?" Tatiana asked, far too much understanding in her eyes. Sometimes he wished she didn't know him that well. But she'd been with him through so much, she'd seen his very worst sides and she still was here, and that in itself seemed like a miracle sometimes. "Just think about it."

"I don't have to think," he told her honestly. "I'd be a fool if I had to think."

"Well, in that case..." She leaned in to kiss him and he gladly responded, almost giddy with happiness as he drew her close, even though this didn't change anything about their relationship. It would be a signal for the outside world only, but a small part of him felt absolutely pleased at the idea of making it official. "I suggest you see to the preparations, Monsieur Casiraghi."

***  
 _July 2016_  
***

Since the charity polo tournament had proven to be a thorough success the previous year, Wills and Harry had decided to turn it into an annual event. Young royals on horseback, chasing after a ball and doing good at the same time... the idea had a certain appeal.

Under normal circumstances, Andrea would have found it entertaining enough, but this time he had the added incentive of news to share. He could have mentioned the wedding plans during a phone call, but that didn't seem nearly as much fun as it would be in a personal talk, with Tatiana by his side while they could see their friends' faces. They'd arranged for a little party with Tatiana's closest circle for the coming week, and this weekend belonged to the royal subset of their friends since the chance to keep it a secret was greater here.

"I wonder if we can convince them not to do this in Britain next time," Amedeo said, umbrella in hand to keep Guillaume and himself reasonably dry against the English summer drizzle. Around them, the lawn was slowly turning soggy and clung to each step.

"It _is_ hosted by the British princes, it would look a little odd if they held it in France, don't you think?" Andrea asked from underneath his own umbrella. "But you can always suggest to Félix to hold his own tournament if you think the weather in Luxembourg is better."

"Not just think, know," Guillaume said from Amedeo's other side, his eyes on the field where Félix was currently attempting to subtly shove Harry off his pony. "But that doesn't mean we're going to copy them."

Amedeo hummed thoughtfully. "It could be fun, don't you think? And it would be for a good cause."

Guillaume gave him a look which seemed far too stern for the casual suggestion. "Do I have to remind you what happened the last time you mentioned polo and a good cause in the same sentence?"

A moment of confusion, then Amedeo ducked his head. "Point taken," he murmured, a concession which earned him a rare kiss in public from his husband.

Andrea looked at them curiously. "What happened?"

"Polo-related injuries," Guillaume said.

Amedeo grumbled in agreement. "Which wouldn't have been so bad, but the resulting enforced celibacy wasn't fun."

Chuckling, Andrea quirked an eyebrow at that. "No more polo, I take it?"

"No more polo," Amedeo confirmed with a sigh, leaning a little more against Guillaume under the pretense of keeping them both dry under their shared umbrella. "Why aren't you playing, anyway? I saw you aren't on the list of blue-blooded participants. It's a shame, Wills and Harry against you and Pierre could have been fun to watch."

Andrea shrugged. "Tatiana asked me not to," he said, casting a quick glance over to the other side of the fence, where she was standing with Harry's wife, deep in conversation. He hadn't been entirely certain whether it would be acceptable to bring her this time, but Wills had overridden all concerns in that regard and simply invited her on her own as well.

"Concerned about polo-related injuries as well, is she?"

"Probably." He smirked and seized the opportunity since there currently was no-one to overhear. "She probably doesn't want to risk calling off the wedding."

Two heads snapped around to stare at him.

"Wedding?" Guillaume asked, sounding completely stunned by the idea.

"She's finally making an honest man of you?" Amedeo added, equally surprised. "When?"

Andrea didn't even try to hide his pleased smile at the thought. "Next spring, we haven't quite finalised the date yet. Oh, and don't tell anyone, we're trying to keep it quiet until the official announcement." Which wouldn't be all that official since Andrea didn't currently occupy any formal positions, but his mother had insisted to make a press statement through palace channels. Another move in her effort to position him as the logical next Prince of Monaco, and he wasn't about to cross her on that.

"Well, congratulations in that case!" Shoving the umbrella handle at Guillaume, Amedeo stepped forward to catch Andrea in an exuberant hug, accompanied by a swift peck on the cheek and a friendly pat to his shoulder. "We've all been hoping you'd hang on to her, you two are just perfect together."

Guillaume's congratulations were considerably more subdued - a handshake, a small but genuine smile and carefully maintained safety distance between them in case Andrea happened to get any ideas about wanting to come closer. He was tempted, but Amedeo moved first and had his husband in a cheerful embrace, teasing about all the propriety.

The opportunity to tell Wills and Carl came once they were both done with their matches and off the backs of their horses (Carl looked a lot more relieved at that than Wills). Andrea trotted over to join them as they walked their ponies dry and waited until they were far enough away from the press before he loped one arm around Carl's shoulder and said, "Fancy coming to Monaco for a wedding next year?"

Again the surprised looks, along with more hugs and pats to the shoulder and a quiet "About bloody time," from Wills whispered in his ear. "I thought we'd have to start meddling."

The mere idea was so absurd that it sent Andrea straight into a fit of laughter, amusement combined with happiness and a hard line of tension which he hadn't been able to shake despite his best efforts. Wills meant well, he knew; Wills always meant well, but even the mild joke about interference, with nothing but friendly intentions behind it, was jarring after Albert's crude attempts at manipulation.

But these were his friends and they'd never even think about making him do something he didn't want. Andrea met Carl's eyes, bright with mirth and happiness for him, felt Wills grip his shoulder in a firm hold that was as much public affection as was acceptable to display between them. From across the field, Tatiana was watching and raised her hand in a cheerful wave when she noticed that he was looking in her direction.

Andrea waved back, the smile on his face impossible to hide, and suddenly it was easy to enjoy the moment.

The splendid mood lasted him for the rest of the polo tournament, spent watching from the spectators' seats with Tatiana, mostly safe from the continuing drizzle. Right now he couldn't have cared less about the weather, though, despite the dampness sneaking into his clothes. He had Tatiana by his side, her hand on his thigh and her head against his shoulder as they watched Harry and Pierre square off with their teams behind them, there was no pressure on him to perform as a representative of Monaco, and for a little while it was an almost perfect moment.

"I think I must have missed something about the rules," Tatiana observed during the third chukka, "because it looks like they think they'll get extra points for mud spattering."

"Ask Wills, I'm sure he knows." Turning his head, Andrea dropped a kiss on the top of her head and rested his cheek against her hair, sighing contentedly when she snuggled closer. "I'm happy you got to come along this time."

She tightened her hold on his thigh. "Just try to leave me at home again," she said. "I've got all sorts of permissions now to accompany you."

"Do you?" he asked, unable to resist kissing her temple once more.

She nodded, her hair tickling his nose. "I asked Guillaume and he confirmed it. Protocol says that fiancées are allowed."

"Well, if Guillaume says so..."

Tatiana chuckled at his deliberately dubious tone. "I think we can safely consider him an authority on appropriate behaviour," she said. "If even he thinks it's acceptable, it must be all right."

"It's not as if I'm going to argue with him if it lets you stay with me." Andrea slid an arm around her waist to draw her closer, polo game forgotten for now. "It's much better like this."

"As though you didn't have anyone to keep you company during official events before," Tatiana said.

"That's different. I can't go and kiss Theodora. Or Amedeo."

He heard the grin in her voice. "You could, but I daresay his husband would have something to say about it. But Theodora would hardly protest. Not that I'm saying that I want you to kiss her, but surely she is entertaining enough."

She was, in a slightly scary fashion. Most of the back-benchers were fun to be around, in a slightly demented sort of way, but that was simply part of being on the royal circuit. Either you went crazy at some point, or you were somewhat odd to begin with.

"Theodora is nice," he conceded. "But I still prefer you over her, if you don't mind."

Tatiana sat up, settled her hand against the back of his neck and drew him in for a thorough kiss which, he figured absently, meant that she had no objections. It should have occurred to him earlier that an engagement was the easiest way of rendering their relationship officially acceptable. 

Yes, he really should have figured this out earlier, he decided, then focused on teasing Tatiana's tongue into a bit of playing and the all-important question just how much they could get away with at an official function until someone complained.

The thought had just crossed his mind when someone cleared his throat next to him. Andrea froze, but didn't pull back.

"You know," Carl said, sounding as though he were fighting laughter, "I can ask one of the security officers to drive you two back if you'd rather have some privacy."

Sighing, Andrea did break the kiss at that. "I'm allowed," he tried, blinking innocently. "Guillaume said so."

Carl arched an eyebrow. "Somehow I have trouble believing that," he said mildly. "Behave, you two, you're scaring the horses. And quite aside from that, you don't want those pictures in the tabloids, they'll just be nasty about it."

"Screw the tabloids," Tatiana said, her fingers caressing the nape of Andrea's neck.

"I doubt they'll care." Carl sat down at Andrea's other side on the bench, still smiling. "Congratulations again, you two. And like Wills said, about time."

Carl stayed with them for the remaining matches, and Andrea couldn't entirely shake off the suspicion that he'd appointed himself their official chaperone for the day. Not that this put a stop to the innocent bits of fun in any way; quite the opposite, it just made sneaking kisses with Tatiana a lot more entertaining. Andrea didn't really take much notice of the polo game in the end, aside from cheering when Pierre emerged victorious from what was generally pronounced an epic battle with Harry and which left both combatants looking like they'd just crawled a few miles across muddy fields.

Matters wrapped up rather quickly after the final chukkas were over. An announcement of the sum collected for charity - one of the joint projects of Wills and Harry again this year - followed by a tongue-in-cheek award ceremony at which Pierre and his team were solemnly presented with medals, flower bouquets and My Little Pony figurines, and after that, duty performed and charitable deeds accomplished, the spectators fled for dryer locations when the drizzle finally turned into more serious rain.

"Any plans yet about your official announcement?" Carl asked while they waited for their assigned car. Tatiana had already left with Alex and Zara, all three of them citing a need for some female-only company, which didn't bode well at all. They were scary enough when they appeared on their own, but once women like those three grouped together, it put the entire world at risk. Andrea could only pray they'd be distracted by shopping somehow.

"Probably in two weeks' time, we're waiting for Uncle Albert to be out of the country so he can't go and try to meddle in any way. He'll only hijack the pictures, and nobody needs to see Tatiana shoving the Prince of Monaco out of the way. People might get the wrong idea."

"Or the right idea," Carl murmured.

Andrea sighed. "Or that," he agreed, receiving a pat to the shoulder in consolation. "Anyway, two weeks if we can manage to keep it quiet until then. Or rather, if we can manage to keep Pierre quiet until then, he's been practically bouncing with glee ever since we told the family."

He wasn't entirely sure what it was that caused his brother to be so completely and utterly delighted with the news. Sure, Pierre had always liked Tatiana, and he'd always been aware that as soon as she and Andrea formalised their relationship, he'd be a little safer where the line of succession was concerned. But Andrea had the feeling that it was about more than inheritance issues and seeing them happy; Pierre could be equal parts protective and possessive about his family, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity for him to have a new target for his attention.

Well, Tatiana would figure out how to deal with that, and if it meant that some of Pierre's affectionate watchfulness would get redirected to her, then Andrea wasn't about to complain. He was glad to have his brother watch his back, but it could get a bit much at times.

"We can keep him here for a while if you want to," Carl offered with a grin. "I'm sure Alex would be happy about it, he's perfect when it comes to keeping Harry distracted."

Andrea quirked an eyebrow. "And have my baby brother pick up bad habits from him? I'm not convinced that would be a good idea."

Wills came to join them, still in his mud-spattered polo gear but looking a lot more relaxed than Andrea had seen him for a while. Fooling around on horses seemed to do everybody a world of good, and it certainly was more fun for participants and spectators alike than their run-of-the-mill receptions and representative events. Those were necessary, but sometimes it was simply necessary to do something different.

"Only fourth today," Carl chided, rising up to collect a kiss. "I really expected better of you. Even the Luxembourgians beat you."

Wills gave him a flat look. "Because Félix is down and out evil and I'm sure they cheated, I just haven't figured out how, yet," he grumbled, drawing Carl close with no regard for the dirt still clinging to his clothes. Not that Carl gave any sign of caring; quite the opposite, he simply pressed against his husband for a few seconds and then let Wills hold on, permitting the firm arm around his shoulder.

"Excuses, excuses," Andrea drawled, meeting the exasperated look he received from Wills with a teasing one of his own. "You'd better hope that Guillaume feels magnanimous and doesn't mention it."

Heaving a sigh, Wills looked around. "Where did he get to, anyway? They were supposed to meet us... ah, damn."

Andrea and Carl both glanced at him for a confused moment, then followed the direction of his gaze. A second later, it was clear what had displeased Wills.

"I thought your father was supposed to leave with the first car?" Carl asked.

"That was the plan," Wills agreed grimly, his eyes on the Prince of Wales standing under one of the canopies set up for the spectators, deep in conversation with their Hereditary Grand Duke. Guillaume was wearing that politely amused mask which Andrea had learned to dread over the years because it meant that he was plotting murder while being perfectly pleasant.

"Should we rescue him?" Andrea wanted to know. "Guillaume, I mean. I figure the Prince of Wales can fend for himself."

Wills hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "We'd better get him out of there before my father gets any ideas about interfering again."

"Interfering?"

It was Carl who answered him this time, still leaning against William's side, eyes on Guillaume and the Prince of Wales. "Amedeo says there've been attempts to get his mother to cooperate on eliminating the folly of two princes in love with each other," he said quietly. "Fortunately Astrid didn't go along with it, but I think that was a closer call than he likes to admit."

"And it's drawn a few more battle lines," Wills added, reluctantly letting go of Carl. "You two better wait here, I'll go and..." He trailed off, frowning. "Or not. Speaking of battle lines, Habsburg to the rescue."

The three of them watched as Amedeo moved to Guillaume's side and made him take an unconscious step backwards, away from Charles. A few seconds of what outwardly appeared like pleasant small talk, Amedeo looking a little out of place in his polo-appropriate jeans and dress shirt compared to the other two men in proper suits, then Guillaume took another step back. A few elaborate gestures from Amedeo were enough distraction to give him the time to escape completely, though he stopped as soon as he'd reached a safe distance, attention on his husband.

"Smart," Wills commented.

Andrea shot him an inquisitive look.

"They're playing at protocol," Wills explained readily. "Guillaume's only the son of a Grand Duke right now, that's easily outmatched by my father as Duke of Cornwall, but as an Archduke, Amedeo's got an edge there and he's starting to figure out how to use it. About time, too, he needs to figure out how to play politics."

"He ranks higher?" Andrea asked, not quite sure about it all. "Archduke trumps Duke, so your father can't just keep talking to Guillaume?" 

"Essentially, yes. Ask him about it if you want the details, it's all due to a bit of medieval forgery of documents if I remember it correctly. Habsburgs. But what it does is make it hard for my father to ignore him without being impolite, so it's a great distraction." Wills kept his eyes on their friends, quietly waving when Guillaume happened to glance in their direction. "Besides, I think my father believes that Amedeo's the victim in that relationship and got tragically dragged into a bit of idiocy."

Andrea's expression turned incredulous. "Your father hasn't really taken the time to get to know those two, has he?"

The look in Wills' eyes was brittle. "Why would he? Just another pair of princes who're forgetting about their duties and about all that's right and proper."

"Which just means that we need to redefine right and proper." Turning his head, Carl nuzzled his husband's jawline for a few moments before rising up to claim a kiss which was more reassurance than anything else. "He'll figure it out eventually."

Wills sighed. "No, he won't," he muttered, his forehead resting against Carl's as they looked at each other. "But thanks for trying."

Andrea let them have their brief spot of peace and moved to intercept Guillaume, who apparently had given up on Amedeo joining him in his escape. He didn't envy his friends the complications that came from their unconventional choices; even if most people in their lives accepted it, one dissenting voice in an important place was enough. For Wills and Carl it was Charles, and Andrea had the uneasy feeling that this wasn't anywhere near resolved. They'd been together for seven years now, it had to be obvious that they weren't about to break up and that this was a serious and committed relationship. Even Queen Elizabeth had given her blessing, but clearly it wasn't enough to pacify the Prince of Wales.

"Got away?" he drawled as soon as Guillaume was within earshot, and subtly blocked his path to keep him from intruding on Wills and Carl.

Guillaume looked momentarily puzzled at being diverted when he'd just been waved over, then glanced over Andrea's shoulder and smoothly veered to come to a halt at his side by one of the canopies that had been set up all along one side of the polo field. "Yes, before we could move from subtle sniping to something more blatant," he said, the blunt admission a clear sign that he'd been rattled.

"Well, Amedeo got you out. Was that a heroic case of 'save yourself, don't worry about me'?"

Guillaume rolled his eyes. "The Prince of Wales likes him better than me, it's as simple as that. Unless something has change since the last time we crossed paths with him, he won't say anything to Amedeo. I wouldn't have left otherwise."

"It's not like your Habsburg is a wilting flower," Andrea said, the familiar bit of teasing drawing the expected response in form of an exasperated glance from Guillaume. "He can hold his ground, I'm sure."

They both turned to look over to where Amedeo and Charles were still standing, having what appeared like an outwardly pleasant conversation.

"He's dealt with it before," Guillaume said a little reluctantly. "And the Prince of Wales isn't saying anything obvious, it's all a matter of interpretation. But with Amedeo he'll hold back, I think he still respects Astrid too much to go after her son."

Andrea shot him an inquiring glance at that. "How so?"

Guillaume cocked his head. "You really need to brush up on your knowledge of the reigning houses," he said, though the reprimand was not as sharp as usual. "There was a marriage between them in the cards for a while."

It wasn't something Andrea had ever heard about before, but he knew there'd been plenty of speculation about potential brides for Charles. His mother had been one of the possible options, after all, though he'd never figured out just how serious that had been.

"Good for everybody that this didn't work out, then?" he suggested. "Though it could have been fun when you think about it. You could have had Wills as a brother-in-law."

"I do not think..." Guillaume trailed off, looking at something behind Andrea's shoulder again. "William. My condolences about your defeat."

The line was delivered with almost perfect sincerity and only the faintest hint of smugness.

"Next time, your brother isn't going to get the better of us again," Wills stated. "We were just being nice this year and let him win."

"Does that mean I won't have to play next year?" Carl asked hopefully.

Wills didn't bother acknowledging such a shocking display of disloyalty from his husband. "We'll get him," he said. "And Pierre, too. Luxembourg and Monaco ahead of us, that's an absolute disgrace."

Andrea had the sneaking suspicion that the princely polo tournament was about to turn into an annual event for at least the next decade or two. "Hey, Wills," he tried in an attempt to offer a distraction, "Guillaume just told me that you, Amedeo and I almost ended up as brothers."

"I did not-"

"You two?" Wills asked. "Now that's a scary thought."

"Oh, come on, you've got Harry already, it's not like he's entirely normal."

"He's got a point there," Carl murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Compared to these two..."

Carl was openly grinning now. "They aren't so bad, you've got to admit that. A little weird, sure, but with Amedeo you'd finally get a brother who's not inclined to prance about naked."

Andrea happened to glance at Guillaume at the time and almost choked with laughter when he saw the expression on the other man's face until it vanished behind a perfectly blank look. "Apparently you're mistaken there. See, he'd fit right in."

"What a great qualification," Wills said dryly. "Sorry, but Harry really is enough of a handful already, and it's not as if you and Amedeo don't have enough siblings each."

Andrea batted his eyelashes at him. "Please?"

Carl reached out to affectionately tousle his hair, and Andrea unthinkingly leaned into the touch a little. "Give it up, we're not adopting you. Not as a brother. Or a pet, so don't bother asking."

"Pity," he commented, smirking. "It could have been such fun."

"In a really scary and insane fashion," Carl said. One last pat to the nape of Andrea's neck, then he withdrew his hand again, and Wills wasted no time drawing him close with an arm about his hips. That need for contact was always a straight indicator for the state of his friends' minds, though right now Andrea wouldn't have needed to see that gesture to know that Wills wasn't about to let Carl out of sight or even reach for the immediate future.

They had reason to be defensive of each other, he thought with an inward sigh, if the situation with Charles was as bad as he was beginning to suspect it had to be. They'd been visiting him in Monaco with greater regularity than before over the past few months, and as if that hadn't been enough, they'd also sneaked in a handful of private visits to Luxembourg. Officially, that had been to force Guillaume to take some time off and spend it in the company of friends, but it had also provided Carl and Wills with an excuse to be gone from London for a while. Andrea wouldn't be at all surprised to find out that those trips to the continent had coincided with the times when Charles was in residence in Clarence House.

By the time one of the security officers came up to them, Andrea - with some assistance, surprisingly, from Guillaume - had managed to keep Wills and Carl distracted with easy banter long enough to make them both look minutely more relaxed and less guarded. Not that he could blame them, of course.

"Sir," the guard said and sounded almost as though he were commiserating, "the Prince of Wales asks you to head back to Clarence House. He says that he invites you and your guests to dinner."

The mood dropped below the freezing point almost immediately, and Wills got creative enough about his swearwords that Andrea absently took note of one or two turns of phrase. The guard seemed used to it; the man didn't even bat an eyelash when his prince switched over to Swedish for added efficiency.

"Fine, we'll go," Wills practically growled. "Guillaume, go whistle for Amedeo."

"Ah, Sir... the Prince of Wales has offered His Royal High- Imperial and Royal Highness a lift already. He says you need not concern yourself with that matter."

Offered. Of course. The sort of offer you didn't refuse, though Andrea wouldn't put it past Amedeo to refuse nonetheless and take his chances. He probably would have if it hadn't been likely to make Guillaume's life more difficult in the case of future encounters with Charles.

With Amedeo practically held hostage, the ride back to Clarence House was a subdued affair, now that Guillaume no longer assisted Andrea's efforts at making light of the situation. They all separated immediately after arrival, off for desperately needed showers in the case of the polo players, and chances to change clothes for the rest.

A look into his suitcase, and a few moments later Andrea rapped at the door to the guest room of Guillaume and Amedeo.

"Finally, I was worr- ah. You." Guillaume frowned at him. "What do you want?"

Andrea gave him a friendly smile in return. "Not back yet, is he? Well, he'll be all right, it's not like Charles is going to do anything except perhaps bore him with talk about roses. Can you lend me a tie? I didn't think we'd do anything this formal, so I didn't pack one."

Guillaume rolled his eyes at such blatant lack of forward planning. "What colour is your suit? I expect you at least packed one of those?"

"Yes, master, I did. A grey one."

Grumbling, Guillaume left him to wait at the door for a minute, then returned with a pale yellow tie. "Here. But bring it back."

As though Andrea had any plans to abscond with Hereditary Grand Ducal accessories. But he just nodded cheerfully and went back to his room to finish getting dressed, and fifteen minutes later, Carl came over from Clarence House to collect them for dinner.

It turned out to be as excruciating an affair as Andrea had expected. He was seated as far away from Charles as possible, down at the other end of the table with Tatiana and Alex (just back from their shopping trip and with no time to change, which made the carefully veiled comment from Charles about wardrobe choices twice as undeserving). But at least they were out of the immediate line of fire and stood a chance to quietly hold their own conversation, which was impossible at the other end of the table.

Guillaume seemed somewhat mollified at the sight of Amedeo, present safe and sound but yet another victim of a lack of opportunities to dress properly, though their pet archduke was at least spared any remarks and treated with considerably more respect. At a glance, he looked perfectly at ease with the situation, but Andrea knew him long enough by now to spot the telltale signs of irritation. Guillaume was reacting to it as well, whether aware of it or subconsciously, and between the two of them they managed to put a sharp edge into all talk at that half of the table when neither Wills nor Carl made any moves to defuse the tension.

"I thought this would have improved at least a little," Tatiana said, her voice barely above a whisper and only loud enough for her seating partners to hear.

Alex shook her head, her eyes firmly focused on her salad. "Quite the opposite," she returned in the same volume of voice. "It's been getting worse on a weekly basis. If this keeps up, we're in for an explosion before the summer is through."

Tatiana's response was a succinct murmur which made even Andrea feel a faint blush creep into his cheeks.

"That's pretty much it," Alex agreed, stabbing an olive with her fork a lot more viciously than strictly necessary.

All that kept Andrea in his seat despite the occasional icy glares from the Prince of Wales was Tatiana's hand on his knee, hidden under the table, her grip tightly reassuring. He'd dealt with situations like this before, but never with such an intensity and unable to make any moves to defend himself. If this were just about him, it would be different, but he knew that the smallest misstep he made would be turned into trouble for Wills and Carl under the guise of paternal concern from Charles.

"It must be an inconvenience to alter protocol all the time to accommodate your... circumstances," the Prince of Wales was saying when Andrea paid attention to the other group between the main course and dessert. "How is that being handled? I imagine it causes a lot of additional effort on all sides."

"Most of the time, it is a matter of simple substitution," Guillaume said, and Andrea had to applaud his calm, "and of slight adaptation in minor matters."

"There are provisions made for prince consorts, after all, as I am sure you are well aware, what with the Duke of Edinburgh often in this position," Amedeo added, and Andrea saw the warning look from Guillaume at his slightly too sharp tone, though it didn't keep him from appearing visibly bristling at the situation. Andrea didn't think he'd seen Amedeo truly angry before - he'd gotten a taste once over the phone when he'd stumbled into the middle of a fight between him and Guillaume, and had been used as a sounding board - and suddenly had a far better understanding why nobody in their right mind messed with a Habsburg unless they couldn't avoid it if Amedeo was in any way representative for that dynasty.

If Charles had noticed as well, he was not giving any outward signs of it. "I worry about William in that regard," he said. "Unconventional moves are rarely appreciated."

"It depends on the willingness of the other side to cooperate." Guillaume sounded deceptively mild. "We have had very positive experiences so far."

Charles sighed, and it looked almost as though motivated by sincere concern. "I do hope this will last beyond the initial phase when everybody is making an effort on your behalf," he said. "It may become very trying afterwards. The small problems it causes will add up, I expect, and eventually there will be less patience for matters such as uneven numbers of ladies and gentlemen."

"That hasn't been a factor at any point," Wills spoke up for the first time. "You know that whenever we're doing public duties, it doesn't matter, and with anything representative at royal events, the others are very open about it."

Charles gave him a cool look. "You do not yet hold any official positions, William," he said. "You are simpler to accommodate. Once this changes, you will find that matters very quickly become more complicated."

Wills looked back, an almost belligerent expression on his face. "I do not see what's supposed to change just because I'll have Carl at my side. Public appointments don't matter, and there are others in same-sex relationships often enough. And where the other courts are concerned, why, the Scandinavians and the Benelux states won't care, will they? And how often do you travel to Spain? They are the only ones who might make a fuss."

He'd left out Monaco, but under the circumstances Andrea was rather glad about that. He didn't want any more attention drawn to Albert than strictly necessary.

"It is not a question of whether they show disapproval, William. But they have their ways to make your life more difficult than it has to be."

Andrea would have laughed at the biting irony if he felt any humour at all about it. Seated between Guillaume and Harry, Carl looked as though he was weary beyond words of the whole situation. If this was what he had to put up with on a regular basis, then Andrea could only admire his patience and hope for his sake that it wasn't going to start putting a strain on his relationship with Wills.

"We try not to listen," Alex murmured quietly, only for the ears of Andrea and Tatiana. "It's the simplest way of handling it, and usually it's not quite this bad. Having a new audience must make it more interesting."

At least the staff had mercy on them and served dessert sooner than Andrea had dared to hope for. He had completely lost his appetite by now, and the others didn't look all that enthusiastic about it either, but seemed determined to get it over with as quickly as politely possible to put this farce to an end. Wills and Guillaume somehow managed to keep the conversation going and steer it away from criticism of their choices in life towards more neutral topics, with Harry offering the occasional comment; Amedeo by now had clearly run out of patience with it all and was no longer bothering to make more than token attempts at contribution. Carl had stayed quiet throughout the meal, which probably was the wisest move he could make in all of this.

By the time Charles laid his folded napkin on the table and rose from his chair in the signal that dinner was over, they all got up as well, ingrained manners taking over where at least Andrea's mind was too exhausted from the strain to prompt him into any conscious moves.

"For fuck's sake," Harry muttered as soon as his father was out of earshot. "That was... bloody hell."

It was a telling sign that Alex didn't even bother to glance at him in reprimand at that, but simply nodded in agreement.

Wills had already moved to Carl's side and drawn him into a possessive embrace, murmuring something Andrea didn't even try to overhear, and Guillaume and Amedeo had retreated into a far more defensible corner together, just in case.

"I think we might as well forget about our plans for the evening," Tatiana said quietly, her hand on Andrea's shoulder. "Nobody looks in the mood for beer and a movie."

He could only nod in agreement, his hand coming up to cover hers. This wasn't how he'd imagined the day would go; he'd looked forward to spending a few private hours with his friends after the more public venue of the polo tournament, but Tatiana was right, it simply wasn't something he felt up to right now. He envied Pierre: his brother was staying at a hotel with Félix and their respective teammates, safely away from the insanity that was Clarence House.

The others, battle-weary looks in their eyes, were quick to agree to their suggestion to call it a night. "We'll come over for breakfast tomorrow," Carl promised as he and Wills accompanied their guests to the door and handed them over to a security guard to keep them from getting lost or kidnapped on the short way over to their guest quarters in York House.

Privately, Andrea didn't think the precaution was in any way necessary, but the Royal Protection Department begged to differ in that regard. There was no way that they'd allow the Hereditary Grand Duke of Luxembourg and an Archduke and Prince Imperial and Royal to walk the roads by themselves after a visit to Wills and Carl, and Andrea couldn't be bothered to wait for a minute just so he and Tatiana could head out without chaperones. The security officers assigned to Wills and Carl were nice enough anyway, so there was little point in it.

"I don't get why they put up with this," he said once they were safely deposited in York House.

"For the same reason you let Prince Albert dictate your life at the moment," Guillaume said dismissively as they headed upstairs. "They don't have a choice about it, it's as simple as that."

"But surely they can't be expected to live with this for the next thirty years or however long it takes for Wills to succeed to the throne?"

Guillaume stopped in the middle of the last flight of stairs and turned around, blocking Andrea's path. A few steps further up and already on the upstairs landing, Tatiana and Amedeo came to a halt as well and looked back to see what was up. "What do you expect them to do?" he asked, his tone sharp. "This isn't as simple as it would be for normal people. They've got expectations to fulfil, and they aren't doing that as far as the Prince of Wales is concerned."

"Just like you aren't," Andrea said before he could stop himself.

The expression on Guillaume's face darkened. "That's between my parents and myself. I don't see-"

"Guillaume," Amedeo interrupted, sounding thoroughly out of patience. "Leave it, this isn't getting you anywhere and the last thing Tatiana and I want right now is to stand here and listen to the two of you work off frustrations. You want to do that, you do that with me and not Andrea."

"Pity," Andrea drawled, ducking his head when Tatiana aimed a mock swat at him.

Amedeo glanced at him, finally looking at least a little amused again. "You two can play again tomorrow," he said, then frowned. "Is that Guillaume's tie?"

Andrea blinked. "Yes?"

Waving his hand, Amedeo imperiously snapped his fingers. "Off with it."

Andrea arched his eyebrows. "Forgot the handcuffs?" he asked, but raised his hands to loosen the knot.

"It's always good to have a few options to choose from," Amedeo shot back. "Besides, I like that tie."

Drawing it away from his neck, Andrea handed it over. "Then God forbid I should come between you," he teased, and didn't have to turn his head to know that Guillaume had to be turning red by his side. "Well, have fun, you two."

Tatiana nodded in agreement. "See you in the morning," she said and rose up to tousle Amedeo's hair. "And don't forget to untie Guillaume for breakfast."

Amedeo winked at her. "Wouldn't dream of it."

***

Guillaume was indeed on the loose next morning when Andrea padded into the kitchen shared by the guest suites on York House's second floor, lured by the scent of coffee.

"Morning," he murmured, heading straight for the espresso machine.

"And a good morning to you," Guillaume lowered the newspaper he'd been reading, took one look at Andrea, barefoot and not wearing anything but shorts, and rolled his eyes. "Is it too much to ask of you to dress for breakfast?" he grumbled. He was immaculate, of course, in dark trousers and a buttoned-up white dress shirt with a tie (not the one Andrea had been lent the day before, though).

Andrea ignored him, his mind fully occupied with the all-important task of making himself a cup of coffee. Fortunately Wills had seen the point about providing a proper espresso machine for his guests after he'd caught Guillaume brewing his own coffee in his trusted travel french press one morning. Andrea did think their Hereditary Grand Duke exaggerated a little where his quest for proper coffee was concerned, but he was nonetheless grateful for the results.

"Amedeo's still asleep?" he asked, claiming one of the chairs at the central table.

Guillaume was very studiously looking at his face and not anywhere lower. "He's gone for a run with Carl."

Andrea cocked his head. "And that at such an ungodly hour in the morning," he murmured, then cast Guillaume a speculative look. "Had an energising night, you two?"

Guillaume retreated behind the salmon sheets of his Financial Times in defence, but the need for caffeine appeared to still be too great to let him contemplate escape. They'd get him to relax one of these days, Andrea thought with an inward smile; as though he were capable of hiding anything with a hickey just poking out from beneath his shirt collar at the side of his throat.

Andrea idly wondered whether there was a deeper reason to Guillaume's tendency to wear shirts with high collars all the time.

They sat in more-or-less companionable silence for a few minutes, occupied with coffee, newspaper and, in Andrea's case, an attempt to pet his hair into some semblance of order or at the very least comb out the snarls with his fingers.

"Just the two of you?" Tatiana asked when she joined them a few minutes later, her dark hair curlier than usual after her shower. She stopped by Andrea and dropped a kiss on the top of his head, her hand sliding along the line of his shoulders and briefly pausing at the nape of his neck.

He tilted his head back to smile up at her. "Amedeo's gone to be crazy with Carl," he said, sighing contentedly when she leaned down for a kiss.

"As long as Wills doesn't mind," she said serenely. Another kiss, then he was abandoned for the greater lure of the coffee machine. "Are they coming by later?"

"Amedeo will try to bring them," Guillaume said, newspaper now slightly lowered so he could talk to her, but still held before him protectively. "We thought it would be best if we attempted to avoid Clarence House for the rest of our stay."

"And for the foreseeable future as well," Tatiana agreed. The espresso machine silenced them for a few seconds while the beans were ground, then the hiss and grumble of hot water set in. The noise alone was enough to make Andrea yearn for another cup. "Is there anything we can do to help them out? Aside from avoiding any and all situations that get us into contact with Charles?"

"You know them better than I do," Guillaume said.

Tatiana sat down on the chair next to Andrea's with her coffee, leaning in for a quick kiss to his temple before she dedicated herself to the task of adding the appropriate amounts of sugar and milk. Sacrilege, in Andrea's eyes, because in his opinion there was no reason whatsoever to dilute the caffeine. "We know them better, but you know the situation. If these were normal friends we're talking about, I'd tell them to have the confrontation out in the open and clear it up, but I guess that's not an option when we're talking about the next two Kings of England. Charles can't have Wills tossed into the Tower anymore until he submits to orders, can he?"

With a sigh, Guillaume carefully folded his newspaper and laid it down on the table. "Queen Elizabeth could order William and Carl Philip to divorce, but considering the public reaction it would cause, I doubt they need to concern themselves with that. She could also command the Prince of Wales to treat them with more respect, but as long as he only does it in private... Truthfully, I think that all they can do is wait and handle it the best they can."

"Great prospect," Andrea murmured into his coffee.

"I am well aware of that," Guillaume said, and Andrea looked up at his sharp tone, confused for a moment until he remembered that Guillaume, too, could have been in the very same position if his parents had shown less understanding. And that those two had dealt with a similar situation with Amedeo's mother, though it was resolved by now and had never escalated to such a level.

"So they have to wait and do what they can to stay away?" Tatiana toyed with her cup, her eyes on Guillaume, who looked not entirely certain at the scrutiny. "In that case we'd better offer them a permanent room in our apartment in Monaco."

Andrea nodded. "If there's nothing else we can do..."

Guillaume cast him an exasperated scowl. "No, there isn't, and William knows it. He has to accept it and find ways to live with it, assuming he cannot find a way to make the Prince of Wales change his mind. Which, admittedly, seems unlikely."

"You're very helpful," Andrea muttered.

Guillaume treated him to a haughty look, though it was milder than some of the other disapproving expressions Andrea had seen from him over the years. Perhaps he was mellowing a little by now, too. "I'm merely being realistic. What would you have me do, suggest that we kidnap William and Carl Philip and hide them somewhere, and in thirty years present William as the long-lost heir to the crown?"

Tatiana chuckled. "Actually, the idea does have some merit. Dress it up with a few prophecies, a sword in a stone somewhere, add a sorcerer and let Carl double as the loyal, supportive knight and the loving wife, and you've got the makings for a great story."

Hiding behind his espresso, Guillaume appeared doubtful at the idea, but didn't stop them when they turned their speculations away from the more serious trouble and towards the possibilities of Wills claiming Arthur as his regnal name.

Eventually they heard the sound of doors opening and closing downstairs, then the thump of steps up the stairs. A few seconds later, the missing members of their little group trooped into the kitchen.

"Why aren't you dressed yet?" Carl asked, giving Andrea a quick once-over.

Andrea waggled his eyebrows. "I am dressed," he protested.

"You're wearing shorts."

"There you go, I'm not naked."

"And a good thing that is," Guillaume muttered. "People are trying to have breakfast."

Wills was already in the process of giving their three coffee cups and distinct lack of solid food disapproving frowns. "You're not going about it in a very successful manner," he growled.

"They'll have something to eat," Amedeo said firmly, bending down to collect a thorough kiss from his husband. Guillaume made a token attempt at protest, but mostly let him simply go ahead with what he wanted. About time that he'd figured out that this was the only way to handle his Habsburg. Andrea could have told him that years ago.

"We'll wait while you two grab a shower," Tatiana said with a sweet smile at Carl and Amedeo, still in their running gear. "Wills can keep us entertained in the meantime."

"Never let it be said that we can't take a hint from a lady." Amedeo gave her a deep formal bow, slightly spoiled by the grin on his face. "Any other instructions?"

Tatiana laughed. "Not right now, your Highness," she teased. "Off with you."

The two of them vanished around the corner, and Andrea distinctly heard a "Race you!", followed by two pair of feet thudding along the corridor, sounds not usually associated with two princes in their thirties.

"Do they always get that bouncy?" he wondered.

"Only when they go for morning runs together. Something about endorphins." Wills was already pulling plates out of the cupboards. "I daresay you've never been awake early enough to experience it."

"I don't intend to do so anytime soon, either," Andrea assured him. "Why didn't at least Carl shower at home?"

"Don't ask me, ask them. They just grabbed me on their way back and we headed over, and a few tourists got a bit of an eyeful."

Prince William, followed by his husband and another prince, all mussed up and sweaty. Andrea didn't dare imagine what the tabloids were going to make of it.

"Did you at least bring clothes for Carl?" Tatiana wanted to know. "He won't fit into anything of Andrea or Amedeo, and Guillaume only has suits packed."

"I did not," Guillaume protested when Wills shot him a disapproving look.

As though anyone believed that. Andrea could hardly remember seeing their Hereditary Grand Duke in anything less than business casual - even on the beach it occasionally looked as though his swimming trunks had been ironed. Amedeo provided much-needed ruffling to soften the overall effect Guillaume could have, but it still was rare to see him in anything other than a proper suit and shirt.

"There should still be some of his clothes here," Wills said, busy with the toaster by now. "We left some the last time we stayed over."

"Did you, now," Tatiana said, and Andrea fought the urge to cautiously duck his head at her innocent tone.

Wills shrugged and loaded more sliced bread into the toaster. "It's a way to escape for a day or two if my father gets particularly difficult. More than that and we'll have a whole host of problems on our hands, but on occasion it's... helpful."

Getting up from her chair, Tatiana went to his side and gave him a one-armed hug as she started to help with the toasted bread. "You'll come through," she murmured, just loud enough for Andrea to hear. "And remember that you can always come and hide with us if you need to."

A quiet smile on his face, Wills turned his head to brush his lips against her temple in a friendly fashion. "As though we'd ever forget that."


	2. Chapter 2

***  
 _August 2016_  
***

One of the positive effects of being a member of Monaco's ruling family, as opposed to that of frozen countries like Norway or Denmark, was that in summer you were guaranteed to have a country dominated by sunny skies and soaring temperatures which practically mandated days at the beach and necessitated fairly relaxed dress code.

However, this also resulted in one of the negative effects of ruling a Mediterranean country known for its cloudless days and beach-friendly climate. If you happened to attend a formal event in summer (which everybody tried to avoid as much as possible), you were in danger of melting. 

This, in turn, brought on yet another of the positive effects, namely that all reasonable people dressed accordingly - only as much as necessary and as light and breezy as possible. Generally speaking, an aesthetically rather pleasant experience as long as you attended a society event and not an assembly of the state council.

Specifically speaking, however, it could also mean that you spent an evening with your fiancée wearing next to nothing (and that see-through) in a stylistically perfectly acceptable way. And while you could look (and were practically incapable of turning your head away), you definitely could not touch because while this _was_ Monaco, there were certain lines which shouldn't be crossed. Besides, Andrea knew that his mother would have his head if he dared to behave inappropriately. She still got grumbly on occasion over the nude pictures. Entirely unfair because Pierre had some of those floating around as well, but with him nobody seemed to make nearly as much of a fuss as with Andrea.

Right now, the temperatures still far too high for comfort even with midnight approaching already, Andrea was sorely tempted to give the press another shot at his naked arse. Comfort over embarrassment, and he was about to drop dead from the heat in his loose trousers and shirt.

By his side, Tatiana definitely didn't have that problem in her outfit. It did, however, add considerably to Andrea's growing need for a cold shower.

He fidgeted his way through the evening, trying his best to stay nonchalant and friendly while praying for time to pass at a faster pace. By his side, Tatiana's glances at him were turning more and more curious, then flashed to amusement when she caught on. 

"Hot?" she teased, her hip brushing not-so-accidentally against his.

He shot her a faintly desperate look. "You have to ask?"

The glint in her eyes far too teasing for comfort, she passed him a glass of blessedly cool red grape juice. No alcohol tonight; this might be a party and officially unofficial, but there were too many of Albert's flunkies in attendance for Andrea to risk a loose tongue. He was growing only too aware of the fine line he was walking these days, and his position as not-quite-heir was turning more precarious by the minute. 

They stayed long enough to satisfy the requirements of manners, networking and honouring the hosts, then Andrea pleaded exhaustion due to his duties for Monaco, Tatiana made all the right noises between regret, disapproval and mild concern, and they slipped away almost unnoticed by the crowd.

Andrea managed to keep his hands to himself - barely - until they were home and safely away from prying eyes and merciless cameras. The sound of the door falling shut still in his ears, he turned towards Tatiana, caught her shoulders to draw her close and kissed her the way he'd wanted to for hours now but hadn't been able to, her startled chuckle as much encouragement as her hands winding about his neck to keep him in place. 

"As though you hadn't seen me for weeks," she laughed, the movement of her lips against his mouth far too teasing and he had to kiss her again, sighing with deep contentment when she pushed close, her body tight against his in all the right places. 

She had stayed by his side all summer, her friends coming to visit her instead, and Andrea had accompanied her on a few vacations which he knew she'd carefully chosen to let him avoid the scarier members of her social circle. It was a much more settled life than they'd had in the years before, and Andrea was cautiously hoping that Tatiana, too, was happy with how it was all turning out. 

"Stop thinking," she told him, angling his head so she could kiss him better, tongue pushing into his mouth and it was enough of a distraction to put all thoughts of anything except her immediate presence out of his mind. 

He ended up with his back against the door, Tatiana's fingers buried in his hair in a tight grip while he had his hands settled at the small of her back, unwilling to ever let her go again. The door handle was digging into his back, a chill touch of hard, cold metal, but he couldn't have cared any less about that when he could hold her so close, warm and soft and so very irresistible. He wanted to have this forever, Tatiana in his arms, her taste on his tongue, the throaty sound of her chuckles and the simple fact that she was here with him. 

There still were limits to what they could comfortably do like this, though, and it didn't take any persuasion whatsoever when she whispered suggestively in his ear. Too suggestively, because they didn't quite make it to the bedroom; a stop on the couch turned out to be very much necessary, and once they'd half-sat, half-stumbled down, Andrea knew they weren't about to get up in the near future. Not that it mattered, he thought absently as she drew him in for another kiss, her fingers teasing along the waist line of his trousers in a promise of more. 

"You're overdressed," she murmured once she had worked his shirt free, her voice still full of laughter, and nipped at his jawline to underscore her point. 

He tilted his head back and earned another bite in reward, followed by a soothing lick, and he spared a fleeting thought to hickeys and tomorrow's official appointments. Let them be, let them think whatever they wanted. Let them be jealous that he had found such a uniquely perfect person to love and that she loved him back. 

"So are you," he shot back, his hand finding its way under the hemline of her skirt, firmly stroking up the smooth length of her leg. 

The look she gave him almost made him lose the last remnants of patience. "Well, do something about it then."

It wasn't a suggestion he needed her to make twice, not when he'd struggled to keep his thoughts away from that very idea for hours now. Tatiana shared his conviction that this wasn't the time for drawn-out teasing - her top, tossed onto the sofa table, was soon joined by Andrea's shirt, the lowermost button victim to her own brand of impatience when it stubbornly refused to cooperate. 

"The laundry people will complain," Andrea managed before Tatiana drew him down again for a thorough kiss that left no doubt that she couldn't care less about the laundry and that she wanted him focused on her and nothing else, as though he needed any encouragement in that regard when simply having Tatiana with him was more than enough incentive already. 

The beep of his mobile, somewhere under the pile of clothes and still in the pocket of his trousers was easily ignored by both of them. His head in her lap, Andrea didn't even bother to look up. Anyone who called at this hour would try again if they truly needed him to answer. And if it wasn't, well, he had more important matters on his mind right now when Tatiana was shifting against him with growing urgency as he nibbled and kissed his way up first to her navel and then her breasts, lingering there for as long as she permitted before she dragged him up insistently to have his mouth meet hers. 

It didn't ring again, though he couldn't have sworn so, not with Tatiana's tongue against his own and her hand stroking along his spine. He felt he soft pads of her fingertips alternating with her fingernails, down past his ribs and the small of his back and continuing along the back of his thigh before trailing up again. They left him shivering from the caresses and from anticipation, finally rewarded when she let her hand slip forwards, inwards, just to linger at his cock until all he could do was moan and squirm in an attempt to get closer. 

"Still concerned about the laundry?" she teased, her chuckle giving way to a contented sigh when he worked his thigh between hers. 

"What laundry?" he countered, moving on top of her - and then yelped, had to shift away to scramble and reach down to get rid of the lost button suddenly digging sharply into his leg. 

For a moment they met each other's eyes, just holding still until Andrea couldn't keep from laughing anymore, his face buried against Tatiana's hair as he desperately tried to get a grip again, impossible when she was trembling with her own effort to do the same. 

"No more talk of that," she decreed once she'd managed to calm down to the occasional chuckle. 

Andrea leaned down to kiss her when she tilted her head up expectantly. "No more," he agreed wholeheartedly. 

Even after their years together, he still had that small moment of wonder when he was finally buried inside her, and for a few breaths he just had to hold still and watch her face, her eyes still bright with laughter. 

"I love you," she murmured, her voice quiet and rough with pleasure; she let him have another moment before she pushed up against him in a demand which was impossible to miss. 

They'd just worked their way towards the right rhythm together when they heard the sound of the doorbell. 

Andrea looked at Tatiana. Tatiana looked back, gave him that cheeky smile only he ever got to see and reached out a hand to cup the nape of his neck to draw him down and claim his mouth again, the upwards shift of her hips enough to drive all thoughts of distractions out of his mind. 

All his senses focused on her, it took a moment for him to realise that the sound he'd heard was that of the key turning in the lock of the front door. 

Beneath him, Tatiana stilled with a whisper of dismay on her lips, her arms quickly coming around him to hold him down when he attempted to move away. "Stay down," she ordered, emphasising her command with a tightening grip of her hands against his shoulders. "Or whoever that is will get an eyeful if you go prancing around like this."

"Whoever that is had better be prepared for that," Andrea whispered back, but she had a point there. The sofa they'd settled on faced away from the door and they'd never even bothered with turning on the lights, so they stood some chance not to be spotted. As long as they managed not to draw any attention to themselves, at least, which was a lot harder than it seemed at first glance when all his instincts demanded that they go and look for that rhythm again.

He listened to the door opening, head dropping against Tatiana's shoulder when he heard Pierre's voice. 

"Yes, yes, I'll be down in a moment... No, they aren't at home, so I'll just get my hat, give me a minute... Of course I need that tonight, it's exactly the right time for wearing a fedora. How do you expect me to listen to jazz otherwise?"

Andrea heard his brother walk from the door over to the left side of the room where the coat rack was, presumably in search of that elusive hat, still cheerfully chatting on the phone. He met Tatiana's eyes, bit his tongue in an effort to keep from laughing, then his attention snapped hopelessly south at the little wriggle of her hips.

"I have no idea where they are," Pierre was saying, accompanied by the sound of a clothes hanger clattering to the floor. "I called Andrea earlier, but he didn't pick up. Probably still at that mindlessly boring party, you know how it goes for him these days... He doesn't get to have nearly enough fun."

Tatiana quirked an eyebrow, her fingers drawing small circles down along the line of Andrea's spine. "Not enough fun?" she mouthed, her knees tightening against his flanks. 

He cast her a desperate glance, wanting to tell her that such a question needn't ever be asked by her of all people and not daring to do so when Pierre was still wandering around. Not even a whisper... He buried his face against her neck in an attempt to ward off temptation, her soft hair brushing across his cheek. 

"London? Tonight? Well, why not... Let me just leave Andrea a note, they like to know where I am... Sure, I just need to pick up my passport, then we can go." 

Tatiana pressed closer, not even particularly demanding now but simply there, warm and solid and so very intoxicating, her heartbeat a strong patter where his lips rested against her pulse point, and he thrust helplessly once, twice before he could catch himself and keep still again. With an almost-audible chuckle, Tatiana shivered against him and gave him one of those looks that always made him feel as though he were falling. 

Seconds or hours later, when Pierre opened the door again, Andrea was trembling with the effort not to move while Tatiana's evil streak had surfaced again in all the quiet little caresses to his sensitive spots and the minute sway of her hips. The moment the door fell shut, he drew her tight against himself with a desperate moan and gave in to simple need, her laughter and pleased gasps all the confirmation he'd ever wish for.

***

They found a gift basket at their door the next morning: a dozen dark red roses, Tatiana's favourite Belgian chocolate and a bottle of the very Corton Grand Cru which had been sold at the Hospices de Beaune's wine auction when Andrea's Fondation Motrice had been the benefiting charity. Tucked in with the roses was a cream-coloured sheet of paper, folded in half, with "Sorry!" written on it in Pierre's distinctive, flourishing handwriting.

"At least he's got manners," Tatiana remarked, rising up to peck Andrea on the cheek. "And he brings chocolate. We may not have to hurt him after all."

***  
 _September 2016_  
***

The rest of the summer passed in relative quiet. Andrea presided over a handful of events in the name of his uncle, Tatiana now officially at his side as his fiancée and far more competent at it all from the start than he could ever hope to be. It gave him some breathing space to have her lend a hand, and he was starting to understand just how important it was to have a competent partner when it came to being a working royal (or a working almost-serene-highness, in his case). While he had to be official and representative, Tatiana had more room to maneuvre; she could talk to people in informal ways and they could go to her with ideas which were not quite important enough to present to anyone official directly. She was rapidly turning into a go-between for Andrea and those needing to speak to him but wanting to avoid the official channels, and by September, he had no idea how he'd ever managed without her. 

It gave him a new appreciation for the work of all the royal consorts and spouses (with a few exceptions of the Danish persuasion): quiet in the background, supportive and always ready to step in and lend a hand if necessary. And, as Andrea had long come to realise, they also made damned certain to keep their respective prince or princess in good working order. Tatiana growled at Albert for him, Carl ensured that Wills maintained a healthy balance between life and duties, Daniel was quietly supportive of Victoria whenever she needed it, and Amedeo was probably all that stood between Guillaume and burn-out these days. 

On the whole, their consorts - official or not - worked just as hard as they did, and by the end of summer, Tatiana deserved their little weekend vacation to Sweden just as much as Andrea did. 

Coming to Carl's little cottage in Värmland was an odd contrast to the more official life he and Wills led in London, surrounded by red tape and security. Here, Carl only had one relaxed-looking Swedish security officer trailing after him when he came to collect Andrea and Tatiana from the tiny local airport, and the cottage itself was protected mainly by a beam of wood serving as an improvised gate. 

"We've never had trouble here," Carl said when Andrea asked him about it while his friend showed them their room for the time of their stay. "All the people who live in the area know each other, so as soon as they see an unfamiliar face somewhere, they keep an eye out and give the police station a call. Or stop by for coffee and a chat and mention it, for that matter. You'd be surprised how many would-be paparazzi had their cars sabotaged down at the village petrol station."

"Attached to you as their duke, are they?" Andrea teased. "Remind me never to irritate you while you're on home turf."

Carl grinned and gave him an affectionate pat on the back. "I'd like to see you try."

"Don't encourage him," Tatiana said, unzipping her bag on the bed in search of warmer clothes. "He'll just take that as a challenge."

Wills arrived later that day, Guillaume and Amedeo in tow. It was another of those odd little turns in life that the six of them tended to stick together these days whenever the opportunity arose; friendships and the shared peculiarities of their situation meant that their connection was growing stronger, the more all of them grew into their roles and their duties. Even Guillaume seemed to gradually resign himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get rid of them all anytime soon and, more importantly, didn't actually appear to mind all that much. 

He still bristled with indignity when Andrea attempted to kiss him on the cheek in greeting, though, which only made the attempt twice as much fun. 

"You act as though I have fleas," Andrea protested, expression as mournful as he could make it.

Guillaume cast him a withering glance. "Normal people shake hands."

"Which means Amedeo isn't normal, he lets me kiss him without protest and even kisses back," Andrea pointed out. "I always knew it. Habsburgs."

Guillaume just rolled his eyes and didn't deign to reply or protest at such stunning reasoning. At least he'd learned that much about conserving his energy and only fighting battles where he stood some chance of winning. 

"Grimaldis," Amedeo shot back cheerfully, ducking when Tatiana tousled his hair before collecting her own round of friendly pecks on the cheek. "But don't worry, I know you don't have fleas. Surely Tatiana gives you regular baths."

The lady in question merely arched an eyebrow. "Only when he's been really good."

They kept up their friendly banter for a while, teasing and bickering and even managing to have Guillaume join in a few times until he remembered that he was trying to be the one mature and proper person here. 

"It's nice here," Andrea told Carl when he caught him alone in the cottage's small kitchen a while later, ostensibly helping him with getting their herd of royals fed and watered. The pretense was slightly spoiled by Carl refusing to let him do as much as touch a knife, citing past precedent and inedible breakfasts as reasons. "A proper royal getaway. I don't suppose you kept this your secret little hide-out?"

"The house has been a gift from the people of Värmland, it's hardly a secret," Carl said, frowning as he counted slices of sandwich bread. "Everybody knows about it."

"But I bet you haven't invited anyone along whom you don't like. Although... you did invite Guillaume, or was that Wills being friendly and polite again?"

Shrugging, Carl considered for a moment before he answered. "We could hardly call Guillaume and tell him to ship Amedeo over to Sweden but stay at home himself, could we? He _is_ doing his best to be good these days, and that he's safely married doesn't hurt either."

Andrea snorted. "He certainly doesn't have the energy to get up to anything untoward, not with Amedeo to keep him occupied. Want me to give you a hand?"

Carl glowered at him and made a shooing motion towards one of the chairs by the small kitchen table. "Sit. I'm not interested in administering first aid."

"I can handle a knife," Andrea protested, digging in his heels and refusing to move.

"It's not cuts I'm worried about, it's the safety of everybody else," Carl quipped, but patted him on the shoulder when Andrea looked properly indignant. "I've got it in hand, but thanks for offering."

"Anytime," Andrea told him.

The look Carl gave him clearly said that his friend knew he wasn't talking about bacon sandwiches and slicing tomatoes. "Thank you. Truly."

It was a rare relaxed evening for all of them, and more than necessary to let them catch their breaths. Andrea and Tatiana weren't the only ones who'd had weeks filled with informal but nonetheless tiring tasks; Carl had been going back and forth between Sweden and England for official duties in both countries and his racing, Wills had his SAR schedule wrapped around his days as a working royal, and Andrea didn't even dare imagine just what Guillaume was getting up to these days in terms of his workload. There certainly didn't seem to be enough rest involved for the Luxembourgian third of their group, judging by the way Amedeo kept sliding lower and lower on the couch, his head by now comfortably pillowed on Guillaume's shoulder, his husband's hand absently petting his hair. 

"Exhaustion due to work or due to sex?" Tatiana murmured when she followed the direction of Andrea's gaze, voice pitched low enough to only let him hear. 

"Work," Andrea drawled, nuzzling her temple when her hand came to settle on his thigh, fingers tapping out a slow rhythm against his knee. "If it were sex, it would be Guillaume who'd be barely conscious."

"I'm not sure he qualifies as awake." She had a point there, Andrea had to concede; their Hereditary Grand Duke was looking sleepier by the minute, though he was making a valiant effort to keep up a conversation with Wills and Carl. Amedeo, on the other hand, had his eyes closed by now and wasn't twitching a muscle. 

It only took a few more minutes until Guillaume, too, began to doze off, his cheek resting against Amedeo's head, one arm wrapped loosely around his husband to keep him close. 

"Whatever have they been up to?" Tatiana wondered again, loud enough this time for Wills and Carl to hear. 

Wills frowned at their friends, then turned towards her. "When I met up with them in London, they were coming straight off a thirty-hour trip from New Zealand," he said. "Some sort of foreign relations meeting, apparently. Amedeo claimed they'd been planning to catch some sleep in London, but that obviously didn't work out."

Carl rolled his eyes. "You'd think he'd know better than that," he muttered. 

"I believe the reasoning was somewhere along the lines of better coming to Sweden with us and force a few days of rest on Guillaume, even if that meant another ten hours of travel."

Tatiana glanced at the sleeping couple, shaking her head. "As though they've never heard of the idea of sleeping on planes," she said. "What did they do to pass the time?"

Andrea snorted. "I can imagine a few things. Though how Amedeo managed to convince Guillaume of them..."

Tatiana nestled closer, tilting back her head to cast him a swift smile. "I'm sure he can be very persuasive."

"Enough for the Mile High Club?"

She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Go and ask him. Or better yet, ask Guillaume, that would be worth it just to see his face." 

Tempting, very tempting, though Andrea suspected that Guillaume's sense of propriety had trumped Amedeo's more relaxed attitude. Time would tell which would win out in the end. 

Their talk turned away to other matters again, meandering from royal gossip to holiday plans to their families and on to the inevitable topic of talking shop and exchanging tips and tricks where official duties were concerned. All the while, Wills kept glancing over at Guillaume and Amedeo, a deepening frown on his face which didn't dissipate even when Carl put a hand on his knee in an attempt to regain his attention.

For a few minutes it helped and kept Wills focused on his husband again rather than anyone else, but eventually he was looking again, eyes narrowed. 

"Wills," Carl murmured. 

"I'm just thinking about getting them a blanket or something."

Carl rolled his eyes. "Sure. Fetch a teddy bear, too, while you're at it." 

"Cute," Tatiana remarked, laughing when Andrea leaned in to kiss the corner of her mouth. 

Wills looked at them, back at their friends, hesitated a moment, then got up despite Carl's wordless grumbling. Crossing over to the other sofa, he poked Amedeo in the shoulder and, at the first sign of life, grabbed him by an arm and the scruff of his neck and practically dragged him upright like a reluctant, overgrown puppy. 

"Bed," he ordered.

Amedeo sleepily blinked up at him. "With you?"

Wills rolled his eyes. "Very funny. Off with you. Guillaume, up."

It was fascinating to see how little protest Wills encountered from the two. Amedeo just yawned and willingly went along when Wills marched him through the door and out into the hallway leading to the bedrooms. A vaguely worried expression on his face, Guillaume trailed after them, something Wills seemed to have counted on.

Eyebrows raised, Andrea watched the little procession vanish around the corner, then turned to Carl. "He doesn't do that with you, does he?"

Carl snorted. "He knows better than to try. But he's good with kids... and people behaving in childish ways, too. Vicky keeps commandeering him as a babysitter whenever she can get hold of him, almost as if she prefers him over me."

"Tragic," Andrea murmured. 

"Very," Carl said dryly. "Especially since he's not got the hang of it yet where setting limits with the kids is concerned. He can consider himself lucky that the palace press office managed to buy off the photographer who took pictures of the next Crown Princess of Sweden smearing chocolate pudding all over the future King of England."

Tatiana chuckled and snuggled more comfortably against Andrea. "Admit it, you're just jealous that it wasn't you who got to do that."

"Oh, I'm sure Wills will go along with that idea if it's suggested at the right moment," Andrea drawled, his arm tightening around Tatiana. "It's not that different from the edible finger paint, after all."

Carl made a face at him. "Do you know how that stuff tastes?"

"No, but I know you gave it a try, I saw the photo where Wills had a blue cheek with three little yellow Bernadotte crowns." Andrea gave him a stern look of mock disapproval. "You really need to be more conscientious about licking him clean."

"Pack some chocolate and vanilla sauce next time," Tatiana suggested. 

"Great idea, we'll do that. Carl, any preferences in that regard?"

Carl gave them both a slightly wild-eyed look. "Tell me you don't assemble those packages together," he demanded. 

"Why, worried that Tatiana gets any insights into your love life?"

"Yes!"

Tatiana chuckled. "Don't worry, Carl, it's perfectly harmless."

"You're sending us sex toys," Carl pointed out somewhat desperately. 

"So far, you haven't complained," Andrea shot back, glancing to the door when he saw Wills come back into the living room. "Got them tucked in?"

Wills rolled his eyes and dropped down by Carl's side again. "I shoved them into their room and told them to get into bed, that's all."

Shaking his head, Carl laid a possessive hand on his husband's knee. "You realise that they're perfectly capable of taking responsibility for their actions, right?" 

"Under normal circumstances, certainly. But this..." Wills trailed off, frowning again. "I don't understand why Amedeo has been letting Guillaume get away with this. Normally he knows better than to stand by and watch if there's such a workload escalation. You're closer to him, has he said anything to you?"

Carl thought for a moment. "Only that he's not happy with what Guillaume considers a reasonable amount of duties, but that's nothing new. I can take him for a run tomorrow, he usually is more talkative then."

"It's always easier to bitch and moan when the reason for those complaints isn't within earshot," Tatiana said sagely. Andrea shot her a questioning look and received an angelic smile in return. 

"You are complaining about me?" he wanted to know.

Tatiana rose up to quickly kiss him. "Never."

He frowned at her. 

"Well, almost never." She sat up to ruffle his hair and he automatically leaned into the touch. "You can sometimes be just a little bit... eccentric."

On the other sofa, Wills chuckled at that. "I wouldn't say Andrea is that bad."

Andrea gave Tatiana a deeply hurt look, complete with dramatic swoop of his arms and a hand on his heart. "You wound me, my lady. I shall go where I am appreciated."

Her eyes bright with amusement, she made a shooing motion, and he couldn't resist brushing a kiss against her fingertips before getting up and flouncing over to the other sofa and dropping down next to Wills. A speculative glance, his suggestively quirked eyebrow countered by a stern frown, and Andrea flopped down, swung up his legs and a second later was comfortably settled. Wills, on the other hand, looked a little startled at suddenly having Andrea's head in his lap.

"Andrea."

Andrea blinked up at him, fluttering his eyelashes. "Yes?"

Wills seemed to contemplate his next words for a second but then just shook his head and shot Carl a helpless look. 

"You can always shove him off if he's bothering you," Carl said, a grin on his face, but despite the careless comment reached out to pet Andrea's hair for a second before returning his hand to its previous place on his husband's knee. 

Wills glanced at Carl, down at Andrea, then over to Tatiana. "You'll take him back for the night, right?" he wanted to know.

She laughed. "If he behaves himself. Otherwise he might just have to sleep in your bed."

"He'll sleep on the sofa in that case," Wills said. 

Andrea frowned up at him. "Cruel."

"It's all up to you," Wills countered. 

Andrea heaved a sigh and wriggled a little to make himself more comfortable. Underneath him, Wills shifted his thighs, and after a few moments they managed to settle down. "I'll be good."

That earned him a dubious glance, but after a second Wills simply shook his head and seemed to figure that he might as well accept the situation for now. "Carl, you grab Amedeo tomorrow morning, once he surfaces again," he said, returning to their previous topic. "I'll see about having another serious talk with Guillaume."

"Those talks don't last long, do they?" Tatiana asked, drawing up her legs and tucking them underneath her. "When was the last one, six months ago?"

"Something like that." Wills sounded thoroughly frustrated by the whole situation, and Andrea could hardly blame him for that. "He listens, things improve for a while, and half a year later he's at a point again where he disregards food and sleep and generally runs himself into the ground."

"He does have a husband to keep an eye on him," Carl pointed out. 

Wills shrugged, absently beginning to pet Andrea's hair. "Amedeo's trying."

"And it's obviously not working," Tatiana said. "Guillaume's had those bad habits for years, he's not going to let go of them just because Wills occasionally barks at him. Or because Amedeo gives him hurt puppy looks and withholds sex."

Andrea snorted. "As if," he muttered, yelping when Carl poked his shoulder. "Oh come on, I can't be the only one who got an enthusiastic thank you note from our pet archduke for the toys we gave them for their wedding."

"Anyway," Wills said, firmly ignoring him, "something needs to be done about Guillaume. I don't think he can keep this up forever, and once he crashes it's going to drag Amedeo down too, he's not going to deal well with the royal game on his own."

Carl reached out and took William's hand in his own. "Can't say I blame him for that."

The two of them looked at each other, and Andrea had a prime perspective of their brief, quiet kiss as they leaned together. 

Tatiana watched too, then rose from her armchair in a fluid motion and came over to join them, nudging Andrea's legs aside to have him made room for her. Once she'd comfortably curled around him, her hand on his chest and his knees across her thighs, he could have purred with sheer satisfaction. 

"So what do we do?" she wanted to know, her voice serious. "Wait until he falls over and pick up the pieces? Slip him tranquilisers? Kidnap him once a month to enforce a vacation? Talking obviously doesn't have any long-term effects, and you're right, I don't think Amedeo can handle this by himself. Guillaume's too stubborn for that."

"He also doesn't listen to reason," Carl said. "Vicky talked to him the last time they had an official event together, and she says he agreed that it's important to keep a healthy work-life balance. But the next second he insisted that this applies to her and not to him because he doesn't have children."

Tatiana snorted and tapped her fingers against Andrea's throat. "Someone better tell Amedeo to quit the contraceptives, in that case. So reason doesn't work."

"No, he'll just rationalise it in some way until the facts suit his own priorities." Wills sighed, his hand stilling in Andrea's hair for a moment before resuming its motions. "If he goes on like this..."

"... we'll have a burn-out on our hands," Carl finished. "If you'd told me that I'd ever be worried about Guillaume, of all people..."

Andrea exchanged a swift upside-down glance with him. He didn't know the history between Carl and Guillaume, but if it was anywhere similar to his own experiences with their Hereditary Grand Duke, then Carl could hardly be blamed for being a bit sceptical around the man. Then again, Guillaume was trying so earnestly these days, it would be a waste of time and effort if they let him succumb to an exhausted break-down now that he was finally being friendly.

"So we'll go and invite them for visits whenever there's a chance?" Tatiana asked. "It's not going to be possible to make Guillaume slow down when he's at home and on duty. So we need to give him reason not to be on duty."

Carl sighed. "Easier said than done," he murmured, his arm coming around Wills to draw him close, and Andrea felt the brief brush of his hand at his side. 

"We'll work it out," Tatiana said. "And if we don't, we can always kidnap him after all."

***  
 _November 2016_  
***

When Andrea and Tatiana flew in from Paris for that year's National Day, Pierre was waiting for them at the airport in Nice, once more seeming to channel the Rat Pack in his bespoke grey suit, narrow tie and rakish fedora. 

"Any particular reason for you to be here?" Andrea wanted to know once they'd dealt with luggage and greetings. 

Pierre quirked an eyebrow. "Do I need a motive to come and pick up my dearest brother and his wonderful, amazing lady?"

Laughing, Tatiana gave him another kiss in reward. "I see your mother has taught you manners," she praised. "But Andrea has a point, it's too early for you to be doing this out of the sheer kindness of your heart."

"Perhaps I missed you two and could not wait another moment," Pierre suggested, but then turned serious, a lot sooner than Andrea had expected. It never boded well when Pierre could not find a light-hearted approach to a situation. "Actually, I was hoping to catch you before Uncle Albert does."

Andrea sighed inwardly. "What's he up to now?" he asked as they walked towards the exit together. 

"Better ask what the flunkies have put him up to," Pierre muttered. "Look... come over to my place tonight? This should be kept private, I just needed to be sure you knew something was up before Uncle Albert could try something."

Albert again on the move to pursue some insane plan of his. Wonderful, simply wonderful. There were times when Andrea wished he had been born into a less complicated dynasty, or at least one with a more reasonable head of house. Albert was making even the Habsburgs look enviably normal in comparison these days. "Sure. Anything specific I need to watch out for if he catches me before then?"

Pierre shook his head, raising his hand to flag down a taxi once they stepped outside into the cool Mediterranean winter day. "Simply don't agree to whatever he suggests to you. And no matter what you have to do, don't let him talk you into anything that costs money."

***

"Where did you leave Tatiana?" Pierre asked later that day when Andrea turned up for dinner alone.

"She's feeling under the weather, so she decided she'd rather have an early night and get me to fill her in tomorrow morning," Andrea said, stepping inside Pierre's apartment. It was still the first one he'd been given a decade ago as a small retreat from the palace and the immediate family, a concession to the fact that he might occasionally want some privacy. "Changed the furniture again?" he asked with some relief at seeing chairs. With Pierre, such simple comforts were not to be taken for granted. 

"Alexandra has been growing tired of the Japanese theme and said I should redecorate," his little brother explained with an easy smile. "I think the tatami mats got to her. And she wasn't too fond of the kotatsu for some reason."

Humming in commiseration, Andrea figured he'd not voice his thoughts on the matter when their little sister had already done so. It had been weird enough to be greeted by his brother in a kimono for the past few months whenever there'd been a reason to stop by. It hadn't been the oddest phase Pierre had gone through - that might have been the one where he'd turned his apartment into a greenhouse and had spent most of his time in there practically naked due to the temperatures and humidity - but it still took some adjusting.

Well, at least the neighbours had gotten used to him. It was simply impossible to stay cross with Pierre for long over anything, from sand in the elevator from his experiments in dunes to his flirt with learning to play the harpsichord and his creative exploits in decorating the hallway walls. Andrea was fairly sure that if he'd tried even a fraction of the things Pierre had done over the years, his own neighbours would have cheerfully murdered him. Pierre's, on the other hand, brought him cookies, patted his head and called him a good boy.

They gravitated into the kitchen, a long-standing habit from their days at Saint-Rémy. Serious talks were always held there, safely away from the living room where guests might be welcomed. 

"Has Uncle Albert talked to you?" Pierre wanted to know, still uncharacteristically serious about it all. 

Andrea nodded. "Tried to, at least," he said. "He stopped by about an hour after we arrived, but he didn't get very far."

"What happened?"

"Tatiana declared that she wasn't feeling well and that she wasn't in any shape for visitors. Hard to ignore even for him, she was turning green while she said that." 

He still was not convinced that leaving her alone had been a good idea, but there had been little he could have done when she'd practically force-marched him to the door and shoved him out, muttering about wanting peace and quiet and no-one who dared to fuss over her. Recognising a lost battle and a need for strategic retreat when he saw it, Andrea had promised not to be back for a few hours and was now hoping Pierre would put him up in the meantime. He soon had a cup of mate in front of him (apparently Pierre was gravitating towards South American influences these days), along with a last batch of sushi, though no more chopsticks could be found. 

"So what's Albert up to?" he wanted to know.

Pierre sat down to his right, still in his vintage get-up from the morning. "Nothing, and that's the problem," he said. "He's not paying any attention anymore to what's going on around him, and that's starting to cause serious trouble."

Andrea frowned at him. "In which way?"

His brother gestured vaguely. "All of them? I can give you the business angle first and foremost, but I suspect it looks the same everywhere else."

"So start with the business side."

Pierre nodded. "It's simple," he said, spreading his hands on the table, palms down. "If I had any sense whatsoever, I'd pull all the family investments out of Monaco. Unless something drastic changes, there's going to be a crash in the next five years. I've hedged my bets as much as I could, but realistically we're looking at losing ten percent of value or thereabouts every year. And that's just real estate, most other sectors are even worse because their assets are more movable."

It wasn't a surprise in any way; Pierre had kept him appraised of the economic situation for years now and Andrea had known that things weren't rosy in any way. But to hear it like that... "Why?" he asked.

Pierre looked at him, head tilted to the side. "Why what?"

"Why... that?" Andrea tried to clarify. "It was fine ten years ago, surely it can't all be because of Albert."

His brother sighed. "He does have a certain talent for ruining things."

"Some talent," Andrea muttered. "This is a national economy, how can he ruin that all by himself? I mean, sure, it's a tiny country, but it's still a country, those things are supposed to be more stable than that."

Pierre snorted. "You've had a few economics classes and you still ask me that? With enough dedication, it's entirely possible to screw up the balance of payments."

Andrea hung his head and after a second buried his face in his hands. "Point taken," he murmured. "So Albert has really messed up."

A glass was placed before him - water, he noticed when he glanced at it. "He has," Pierre agreed. "Because he's let the flunkies do as always, and they don't care about the long term. Did I mention that last month one of them actually asked me for a bribe when it came to a few new investments?"

Pierre sounded indignant enough about that to make Andrea look up again. "Seriously?" It wasn't so much the fact that someone would approach his brother about that - they both knew well enough that in their corner of Europe, it was hard to escape these matters at times and they were as much part of business as end-of-year reports and shareholder meetings - but that someone would be brazen enough to do so in Monaco. 

"Seriously," Pierre echoed, a satisfied smirk settling on his face. "I politely declined, then went and bankrupted the bastard. You'd be surprised what a few well-placed rumours of insolvency and a phone call to a wife about that affair her husband's been having with the personal secretary can do to a company's stock market performance."

Andrea reminded himself never to seriously annoy his brother. "Not an option that's going to work with everyone," he said, not bothering to hide his regret.

Pierre nodded. "Not if you want to keep at least some politicians around. Uncle Albert's been far too lenient in that regard, they're all lining their pockets. Mama has been keeping an eye on them, but there are limits to what she can do these days."

Corrupt government, sagging economy... Andrea's heart sank. He'd grown used to the idea that he might just end up ruling Monaco after all over the last year, but with such prospects, he wasn't entirely certain that he wanted to. Perhaps he should begin to slip his aunt-by-marriage fertility drugs.

"So what do we do about it?" he asked. 

Shrugging, Pierre leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed in front of his chest. "That depends on what you are going to do," he said. "And I'll need is an answer from you. I didn't want to ask you this in front of Mama, just in case, but... are you going to take over or not?"

It should have been an easy question to answer, but Andrea still took a minute to consider. He'd not thought that he'd need to commit himself to the idea now; in ten years maybe or even later, depending on how long Albert was going to stay interested in playing Monaco's Prince. But with Pierre watching him, all serious and focused for once, there suddenly was no more time left to decide. 

"I'm going to have to," he said.

Pierre's eyes narrowed. "You sure about that?"

Andrea looked down at his glass of water, then at his brother. "No, but do I have a choice?" he asked. 

"You can always say no." It seemed simple when Pierre stated it as casually as that, but they both knew it was more complicated. Their mother had never said anything about her expectations or plans for them, and she'd always allowed them to make their own decisions. But they both were well aware that they had roles to play in the family, and they'd gravitated towards them of their own accord, Pierre's fate at the business side of things while Andrea's lay with politics. 

"If I say no..."

"Then I'm going to kill you for leaving me in the middle of this mess," Pierre told him. "But you can say no."

"Of course," Andrea muttered sarcastically before turning serious again. "I mean it: do I have a choice?"

Pierre bowed his head. "Depends on what you're willing to accept as an outcome if you decide against it. Because if you don't make a move now and start setting things in motion, it's going to be too late. You'll have to be radical enough already as it is, and you're running out of time. If you are going to do it, then you have to start working on it before the year is through."

"And if not?" Andrea asked.

"Then I'm going to begin securing the family investments," Pierre said, his voice deeply serious, "and in a few years at the very latest, that's going to break Uncle Albert's neck."

And they might just have a republic on their hands in that case. Which was fine in theory, but it would also spell the end of Monaco, and Andrea did not know whether he wanted to be the one to blame for that. 

"I'll decide," he said. "Soon. But not today. I need to talk about it with Tatiana, at the very least, it's going to impact her as much as me." 

"Talk to her," Pierre agreed. "But don't take too long to make up your mind."

***

"So what are you going to do?" Tatiana asked the next morning when he explained the situation to her. They were having breakfast in bed, a concession to the mild flu she'd caught; that she hadn't protested Andrea's attempts to fulfill her every wish so she didn't have to get up was a clear sign to him that she was under the weather more than she cared to admit. 

Andrea poured her another cup of herbal tea. "Figure out whether I want to try and stage a coup, it seems. Mama hasn't said anything yet, but you can bet that once she knows I'm committed to that path, she'll not wait any longer. And from what Pierre says, waiting would be costly, not just in terms of money, but also credibility."

Tatiana contemplatively nibbled on a slice of toast. "I think he's right about that," she said eventually. "It's the impression I've been getting over the last few months, too. Whenever someone normal talks to me, there's always that expectation that if you take over, things will get better."

Just the sort of pressure he needed. "I wish I could be so sure about that too."

She reached out to take his hand in a loose grip. "If it's any consolation, I doubt you could do worse," she told him, a smile curling the corner of her mouth. "You've got the education for it and, what matters more, you've started to do the work. Believe it or not, but you actually did quite well over the past year where your official appointments are concerned. Even Guillaume says that you managed to hold your ground on that last conference."

Andrea quirked an eyebrow at her. "And when did you start asking our dear Hereditary Grand Duke for progress reports on my prowess?"

Tatiana smirked in reply. "As though I'd hesitate to use any sources of information at my disposal. But I think you really impressed him there, and you know he uses tough benchmarks for comparison."

"Praise from Guillaume." He rested his free hand on his heart in a flourishing gesture. "I shall be forever content now."

Laughing, Tatiana aimed a mock scowl at him. "Be nice," she chided. "Or he might stop sharing his notes with you, and then what will you do?"

"Bribe Amedeo to sneak me copies, of course." Andrea leaned forward for a quick kiss, then handed her the tea cup. "He really said last time wasn't a completely lost cause?"

Normally he didn't care much about the impression he left, but when it came to official representative works, it was a different matter. It wasn't just his own reputation he had to maintain, but also that of an entire country and its thirty thousand citizens. They deserved it that he did his best. And Guillaume might not be the friendliest person, but Andrea knew that the man was, if anything, unfailingly honest about such matters and certainly wouldn't bother with positive comments just to make someone feel better.

Tatiana gave him a knowing look over the rim of her cup. "He did. And he knows the requirements well enough to judge."

"Makes me wish I did, too," Andrea murmured. Albert still didn't let him sit in on all the council meetings and governmental matters; he was permitted to attend the minor ones, and nobody was about to ban him from anything boring and time-consuming. But Andrea knew only too well that the real governing - what little there still was - took place elsewhere, behind closed doors and in the shape of whispers and secrets. It was no way to run a country, he thought, but it was his uncle's preferred method. 

"You'll just have to make up your own requirements," Tatiana said, sipping at her tea. "You're smart enough for that, and you've got enough friends in royal situations who can help out in that regard."

He shot her a half-amused, half-thoughtful look. "Make up my own methods?" he asked.

She smiled, that private small smile which always made his attention focus on her and nothing else. "You'll just have to come up with a novel way of handling this."

***  
 _January 2017_  
***

The big question, Andrea mused as he surveyed tables upon tables of food in various stages of preparation, white-behatted chefs fiddling with decorations and doing mysterious things with spray cans and huge knives, was whether they were allowed to eat anything here.

It was his first time at a culinary competition, and he still was not entirely certain what to think of it. So far it looked like fun, and the atmosphere was a lot more relaxed than most of the official events he'd been to lately, but he couldn't quite make up his mind whether to handle this like a gala dinner or a sports event. The food pointed towards the former, the cheering fans on the stands the latter. 

"So how does this work?" Amedeo asked him, apparently pondering the same issues as a fellow first-timer at the Bocuse d'Or. The courts seemed to have reasoned that the event was a prime opportunity for royals-in-training: at last count, Andrea had so far counted five people who were currently second in line to a throne, or married to the heir apparent. 

"Simple, you just walk around, spend some time with your national team, and look delighted whenever someone gives you something to eat," Carl explained as their resident veteran attendant to the Bocuse d'Or. "And go easy on the wine, there'll be a lot of that."

"Well, this _is_ France," Andrea drawled. "It's not like they're going to hand out water. Do you spit or swallow?"

Amedeo and Carl shot him wary looks. 

"The wine," he clarified with a perfectly innocent blink. "Not what you are thinking."

Carl just rolled his eyes and reached out to swat him, Andrea automatically ducking away and retreating behind Amedeo for safety. It was just getting fun when his friends both snapped to attention; Andrea followed a second later when he spotted the reason for their sudden prim behaviour. 

"So they sent a few of you guys as well," Maxima said as she descended upon them with a huge smile on her face. "I was beginning to think it would be girls only this time, I've only seen Mathilde and Mette-Marit so far. And Mary, but she's pretending that she isn't here."

Andrea had to fight the urge to look around surreptitiously to see whether he was in any danger of being attacked by the Danish harpy princess. 

"As though we'd miss the opportunity to spend some days with all you wonderful ladies," Amedeo told her and delivered a picture-perfect kiss to her hand, then squawked with indignation when she reached out to tousle his hair. Royal relatives really were not that different from regular ones most of the time.

"Flattery will get you far in life," Maxima told him. 

Amedeo fluttered his eyelashes at her. "It's not flattery when it's the simple truth," he said with a perfectly straight face. 

Maxima raised an eyebrow at him. "Do I have to remind you that I'm married with three children and that you are married and gay?"

He waved off. "Details."

"Important details," she said, a grin on her face. "So have you all met your teams yet?"

Over the next hours, Andrea learned that cooking competitions could be just as fiercely contested as football championships, and that the same degree of enthusiasm was expected of all royal spectators. Adorned with a scarf in the colours of Monaco, he sat between Carl and Amedeo and watched as the various teams sliced and diced and fried and broiled and generally did amazing things with huge knives to tiny bits of food. 

"So how are you doing?" Carl asked during a quieter phase, when everybody was occupied with chopping vegetables. 

Andrea quickly looked around, then leaned closer to his friend. They were in the cordoned-off VIP area and nobody was likely to overhear, but he still preferred to be cautious about it all. "Mostly I'm trying to keep my mother from staging a coup," he murmured. He'd tentatively told Pierre that he would start to position himself more clearly as the next Prince of Monaco - which hadn't come as a real surprise to anyone - and from that moment on, their mother had begun to plot with frightening determination. "If she gets her way, she'll have me on the throne within two years, and I'm not certain that's a good idea."

"Why not?" Amedeo asked from his other side. "If you're going to do it, you might as well start now."

Andrea shrugged. "I'd rather have a few more years to learn how it all works," he admitted. "So far, Albert doesn't let me do anything that's really important. I can handle the smaller aspects, but the big issues are another matter altogether."

Amedeo hummed contemplatively. "Point taken. Better spend some more time working out where the skeletons are hidden before you are officially responsible. Are you getting heir training yet?"

"Heir training?"

"Princess classes," Carl clarified. "All those lessons on etiquette and house law and who sits where in governmental meetings and how to best get them on your side."

Andrea shook his head, while down on the stage a pot clattered to the floor, accompanied by loud swearing in Lëtzebuergesch, followed by quieter, albeit Italian and thus much more colourful muttering from Amedeo. "So far nobody has bothered with that."

"They are aware that you're going to be the next ruler eventually, right?" Carl asked. "How are you supposed to learn?"

"Osmosis, presumably," Amedeo said, rolling his eyes. "Good luck with that."

Andrea shot him a jaded look. "Thanks very much for that vote of confidence." Especially when he had just the same doubts, and had been looking for reassurance that it wasn't as bad as he suspected. 

Amedeo merely shrugged. "You'll end up in trouble without it, trust me on that. They put me through years of heir training, and they weren't even doing the full program with me at the time. You'll need it if you want to survive this."

"Why did they stick you into consort class last year, then?" Carl wanted to know. "Surely it can't be that different."

"Heir class is to teach you how to deal with the government. Consort class is to teach you how to deal with the heir." Amedeo waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Much more important, and more applicable as well."

Carl grinned. "True. Far more hands-on."

Andrea glanced at them both, head cocked expectantly. 

Amedeo just shrugged. "Consorts' secrets. We'd have to kill you if we told you."

Carl nodded in agreement. "Don't bother with the puppy looks, you're an heir, we can't possibly share them with you."

Andrea studied them both for a moment, eyes narrowed, then got up, took two steps to the left and flopped down in the free chair by Maxima's side just vacated by Mathilde, confident enough by now among the real royals for such a move. They all were nice enough, he'd learned over the last few years and - always with the exception of Her Royal Highness Mary, Crown Princess of Denmark - forgiving when it came to inexperienced princes-in-training.

"They're being mean," he told her, his best saddened expression on his face. 

Maxima patted his knee in consolation. "I'll call their husbands and make sure they get a spanking," she assured him. "Or perhaps better not, they might actually enjoy that. You should have brought Tatiana along, she'd keep you safe from those rascals."

On Maxima's other side, Amedeo and Carl did their best to look innocent, and failed miserably at it.

"We planned to come together, but she's still not feeling well," Andrea said. It was something that worried him, even though Tatiana insisted it was nothing serious. But since that cold she'd caught in November, she'd had more than a few bad days.

Maxima made a commiserating noise. "The flu?" she asked. 

Andrea shrugged. "She had that in November, and that was different A stomach bug? I don't know, and she says it's just a bit of occasional queasiness and that it will go away by itself."

Eyebrow quirked, Maxima gave him a curious look. "You already checked whether she's pregnant, I assume?"

Andrea felt the ground drop away underneath him. All he could do was stare.

"If you say she had a cold, and she's now not up to her usual game... you two did remember about extra contraception?"

Andrea blinked, and not just at the fortright question.

Pregnant. The mere idea was too scary for words.

Grinning madly, Maxima poked his knee. "You'd better pick up a pregnancy test on the way home."

***

The following morning, Andrea and Tatiana were staring at a small strip of paper with two distinct blue lines on it.

"Well," Tatiana tried eventually.

Andrea glanced at her face from the corner of his eye, but didn't dare to twitch a muscle. 

Tatiana vaguely waved her hand. "That does look definite."

Keeping his eyes on the pregnancy test, Andrea ventured the faintest of nods. He hadn't managed to catch even a whiff of sleep last night, and his mind had been on panicked overdrive ever since Maxima had hit him with that particular possibility. 

It shouldn't have thrown him so badly, but this was the result of a decade of being diligent and careful enough that they'd never had reason to worry before: now that they were looking at an unexpected positive result, Andrea had no idea whatsoever how to deal with it, or whether Tatiana was going to kill him. Well, possibly not kill. But castration seemed like a potential risk.

Tatiana poked him. "Say something."

Andrea risked looking at her. "Sorry?" he attempted, aiming for what felt like a marginally safe reply.

Mistake, he realised when she blinked, then narrowed her eyes in a sharp frown. "Sorry?"

He ducked his head. "No?"

"You'd better not be," she growled. 

"I'm not, I'm just..." he trailed off, gesturing helplessly as he scrambled for the right word, "not sorry. Really not."

She was still frowning at him and he knew he was supposed to react, but he simply could not prompt his mind into making any sense whatsoever. He'd spent the last twenty hours hovering between sheer terror and absolute delight and all the possible emotions inbetween, and by now it had all knotted together in a tangle so far beyond words that he couldn't even find a starting point.

"It's... This is... " Not working at all, nothing he might have said fit even remotely, so he just shook his head, reached out and caught her by the shoulders, as gently and carefully as he could, and tried to tell her with a kiss what he couldn't put into words.

He felt her resist for a moment and was ready to let go of her when he heard another wordless grumble. Then she was kissing him back, one of her hands coming up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck and keep him firmly in place, as though he'd have been crazy enough to try and pull away. A sharp nip to his bottom lip, a teasing, soothing, tempting lick that coaxed his mouth open before he could think better of it, her tongue a teasing flicker against his own. 

When she pushed insistently at his shoulder, he didn't resist and slid down until he was on his back on the sofa, Tatiana above him, braced on her elbows as she kept on kissing him. 

"Not sorry?" she murmured against his lips and he needed a second to comprehend what she was saying.

"Not sorry," he returned, shifting beneath her when her knees tightened against his hips. "Never, not if you aren't."

"Never," she echoed and claimed his mouth once more and he gladly responded in kind, cautious to let her set the pace while he made another attempt to wrap his mind around the news. 

For a while they kept on kissing and petting, Tatiana's amused chuckle in his ear when he finally dared to slide his hand forward across her flat belly. Leaning back, she tugged his shirt free and returned the gesture, her cool fingertips dancing across his stomach in a tickle that had him squirm in an attempt to get away before he caught himself and held perfectly still so he wouldn't startle and unbalance her. 

"I'm not sure we should do this," he tried when her hand wandered further, toying with the waistline of his trousers before dipping lower.

She sat back, the pressure against his groin far too distracting, and treated him to the sort of look which said that she was doing her best not to laugh, but that it was a struggle. "It's not like you need to worry about getting me pregnant anymore," she teased. 

"Yes, but..." Coherent sentences weren't his forte that day, but he did his best to focus. "Should we?"

"We did a few days ago," she pointed out reasonably, her fingers idly caressing his belly along the line of his ribs, and he had to concentrate to keep from bucking his hips at the gesture his subconscious associated with a number of other, more intimate touches. 

"You weren't pregnant a few days ago," he said. "Well, you were, but..."

They looked at each other for a second, then Tatiana arched an eyebrow and tilted her head, the corner of her mouth twitching with a barely suppressed smile. 

"How about," she said, her voice a deep purr that went straight to his cock, "we just see where this is going?"

***

They proceeded in a slightly more strategic fashion the following day. A doctor's visit was their first move- in Saint-Rémy rather than in Monaco, so they could actually hope for privacy and a chance to keep the media from finding out before it was unavoidable. It was one of the advantages of growing up in that small town: the people there had known Andrea for years as a normal person and they now treated him as one of their own, along with protection from any and all outsiders. He had no illusions that the gynaecologist wasn't going to share the news as soon as she had a chance for some gossip, but it would stay within the limits of that community and it would not be about him as a Grimaldi, but about him as her sister's former classmate and her mother's neighbour. On the whole, it was something he and Tatiana could live with.

Armed with encouraging check results, lists of instructions and bewildering information, they approached step two. 

Andrea's mother took it a lot better than he'd expected. A minute of surprise, a disapproving clucking of her tongue in his direction when they admitted that it hadn't been planned this way, then she'd sat Tatiana down and spent the next two hours feeding her cookies while sharing pregnancy stories. Andrea, meekly sitting by Tatiana's side, found out a lot more about the first nine months of his existence than he'd ever wanted to know, including the difficulties he'd posed when it came to his mother choosing her wedding dress. 

"At least you won't get any comments about getting married because you have a baby on the way," his mother said. "We really should simply claim it's traditional, and leave it at that."

Tatiana's mother reacted in the same way when they called her as soon as the time zones were appropriate: happy congratulations to her daughter, an audible frown directed at Andrea (who felt that it was faintly unfair, since Tatiana had been an enthusiastic participant, but who wasn't stupid enough to mention that) and the promise to come and visit as soon as it could be arranged.

That evening, Andrea was still working on wrapping his mind around the idea that there was going to be a baby and that he was going to be said baby's father; everything was still amazing and terrifying, but he at least could manage complete sentences again. 

"Did you get a sonogram already?" Charlotte asked from where she was sitting by Tatiana on the couch, flanking her together with Alexandra in a frightening female triumvirate. Andrea really would have liked to sit by his woman, but he wasn't about to try and dislodge either of his sisters for that, especially when Tatiana looked perfectly content at the company.

"We did," and then there was excited chatting and cooing again and Andrea, more bewildered by the minute, fled into the kitchen under the pretense of checking up on Pierre, who was being suspiciously quiet in there. 

"The doctor said that right now the baby is a peanut," he said after his brother had poured two generous shots of whiskey into him in quick succession. "Well, not a peanut. Size of a peanut."

Pierre patted his shoulder, handed him another whiskey and went back to fiddling with the boxes of all of Tatiana's favourite treats he'd brought along. "As long as everything is all right with the peanut?"

"Yes," Andrea said, "so far..." and then he trailed off because his mind was suddenly full of all the things that could go wrong and all the things he might do wrong, not just now but in the next few months and in the years that came after, and had to focus on breathing for a minute until all that responsibility felt marginally less overwhelming. This wasn't about running a country anymore. Running a country was easy in comparison. 

"Don't worry, you'll be fine," Pierre told him decisively. "You, Tatiana and the peanut."

Andrea shot him a grateful look for that vote of confidence. It was a balm on his nerves to see that everybody was taking it well so far, even though he wished he could have a share of all their calm cheerfulness, just so he didn't keep on feeling as though someone had pulled the rug out from underneath his feet. 

"It's just scary," he admitted, toying with the half-empty tumbler in his hand, the ice cubes clinking. "And unexpected."

"Of course it's unexpected, Tatiana has too much sense to deliberately do this now, even if you didn't" Pierre said and ignored the irritated glower Andrea treated him to for that comment. "But there's no reason to be scared. You've been a good big brother, I don't see why that's going to change just because we're no longer talking about your siblings but about the peanut."

Andrea had the uneasy suspicion that in fifteen years, he'd be explaining the origins of an unfortunate nickname to his daughter or son. Then he had to take a deep breath again at the idea of _having_ a daughter or son. Maybe a peanut wasn't so bad after all.

"Still hiding?" Alexandra asked, poking her head through the doorway. "What are you two up to?"

Pierre treated their younger sister to one of those bright smiles he only shared with the family. "I was just explaining to Andrea that he's perfectly capable of being a father," he said. "Since he didn't mess up too badly with any of us."

With a laugh, Alexandra came up to Andrea for a quick hug from behind. He leaned back against her, their cheeks resting together for a moment before she pecked him quickly, cheerfully, reminiscent of all the times she'd done so in the past. At least now she was tall enough to do this without complaining about her brothers being too big. "You'll be perfect, don't doubt that. If only because Tatiana and Mama will murder you otherwise."

Andrea dropped his face into his hands with a not entirely faked groan of dismay, and Alexandra ruffled his hair affectionately before letting go of him again. It was nice to have her here for the weekend, even though she'd have to be back at school in time for Monday. But when he'd mentioned that there were news he wanted to share with the family, she hadn't even asked whether it was important, she'd simply packed an overnight bag and been on her way.

"You'll do well," she told him again, sounding wonderfully convincing, and then seemed to sense that he needed a moment. "Oh... Pierre? I need to ask a favour of you."

"Anything," their brother said, and Andrea knew he meant it. Which was slightly scary when taking into consideration the sort of power Pierre had at his disposal these days. But for family in general and Alexandra in particular, he'd never hold back.

"The Rose Ball next week... are you bringing a friend?"

Pierre's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Alexandra looked decidedly uncomfortable and suddenly a lot like the gangly teenager she still was. "Because I don't have an escort and I thought perhaps, if you won't invite anyone else..."

"What happened to Marco?" Pierre asked.

She hung her head. "Not an issue anymore."

Pierre's expression darkened. "What has he done?" he wanted to know. An unspoken 'do I need to punish him?' hung in the air and there was no doubt that Pierre would, if need be. And Andrea would happily assist, because nobody hurt their baby sister and got away with it.

"He decided he'd rather go out with that Bourbon-Parma girl in our class," she muttered. "Apparently it matters that she's a more real princess. And she's been invited, too, and Mama says we can't un-invite her, so he will be there."

"Idiotic bastard," Pierre growled, and Andrea nodded in agreement. "Good riddance if that's all he cares about. Of course you'll have me as your escort for the ball if you want."

Alexandra gave him a grateful look. "Really?" she asked, stepping up to him for a tight hug, which was immediately returned. Pierre was not someone to pass up a chance for hands-on affectionate gestures with the family. 

"We will sort it out, don't worry." 

Andrea hummed wordlessly, glad for the brief distraction. "If you'd like, I can probably find you a Royal Highness to accompany you," he offered. It was a favour he felt confident he could call in, what with Carl and Wills already confirmed as guests and Amedeo determinedly working on wearing down Guillaume's resolve that they had no time. 

"Good thinking," Pierre backed the idea. "Andrea, you find her a proper escort, and I'll see about seating little Marco with the most boring people I can find."

Alexandra eyed them suspiciously. "That's all you'll do?"

Pierre blinked at her. "Well, if you would like me to make him disappear in the dungeons..."

She cocked her head. "I'll think about it. The dungeons are sadly underused these days."

***  
 _February 2017_  
***

Three weeks later, Tatiana and Andrea were curled up on the sofa together after the next medical check-up and the next round of sonograms (on which the peanut seemed to have grown slightly, but still was a slightly brighter blob surrounded by other blobs, though Andrea would never have dared to say so). Between them, they had Andrea's mobile phone, set to speaker and ready for a not entirely improvised conference call to the royal subgroup of their friends.

"It's perfect," Amedeo was just telling them about the new living arrangements of his brother and Alexandra (Guillaume's sister, that was, not Andrea's, because if Andrea's sister had ever moved in with a Habsburg, he did not know what he'd have done), "especially because it gets Joachim some company. He's known Alexandra since their days in the sandbox together, they'll get along perfectly now."

Andrea wondered whether Amedeo had ever drawn any parallels between himself and Guillaume, and his brother and Guillaume's sister. So far, he seemed convinced that their younger siblings were perfectly harmless and innocent, and shared an apartment in London for no other reasons than having someone to eat breakfast with.

"So... you think they moved in together just because of that?" Carl asked, sounding as dubious as Andrea felt, and also as though he were struggling to suppress laughter. 

"Sure, it's simply convenient. Besides, Aunt Maria Teresa was not too happy about having Alexandra live all by herself. Joachim can keep an eye on her and he gets a sensible flatmate."

Andrea exchanged a quick glance with Tatiana and saw her lips quivering with the effort not to laugh. "Well, as long as it works for them," he drawled, smiling when she snuggled closer, and leaned in for a moment to bury his face against her hair and inhale her scent, almond and jasmine and something far more complex that was uniquely Tatiana. 

"We'll keep an eye on them if you want us to," Wills said, "so tell them to give Carl or me a call if they need any immediate help with anything."

"Like asylum once their parents and brothers figure out what they've been up to, and with whom?" Andrea murmured, too low for the phone to pick up. 

Tatiana chuckled. "Possibly. Amedeo, where did you leave Guillaume?"

Amedeo sighed and sounded thoroughly frustrated. "Still in the shower, he only came home five minutes ago." 

"And you are chatting to us rather than joining him?" Andrea teased. "I feel honoured."

"Shower sex is overrated," Amedeo said, dismissively enough that Andrea had no doubt he was speaking from experience.

"Only if you do it the wrong way." Tatiana nestled closer, her head coming to rest against Andrea's shoulder. "But don't go practising right now, we do want to talk to you."

"Nothing serious, I hope?" Wills asked in that perfectly reliable and sensible tone he could manage, accompanied by a noise of agreement from Carl.

"Nothing serious in a bad way," Andrea said carefully and very cautiously slid his hand to rest on Tatiana's belly, barely daring to touch. She shot him a look that clearly said she knew what he was doing and brought up her own hand to cover his. "But we need Guillaume present, we can't possibly do serious without him."

They chatted for another few minutes, the others readily playing along when Andrea tried for some inconsequential small talk. It was one of the advantages of royal friends: you could always rely on them to be capable to fill any potentially awkward stretches with idle conversation on royal gossip. 

"... and someone sent back his underwear by mail the next day," Wills just finished up his report on Harry's latest escapade. "He's still a bit miffed that nobody actually wanted to keep his shorts as a memento."

"Tragic," Amedeo commented. "Perhaps he needs to wear more interesting... oh, hey love, finally, we've been waiting for you."

A quiet sound that might have been a kiss, then Guillaume said, "My apologies for the delay, but a meeting was running late."

"Three hours late?" Amedeo asked, the disapproval hard to miss. 

"We rescheduled and left the rest for tomorrow," Guillaume said defensively. "It was important."

"Everything is important," Amedeo grumbled. 

"You know that I cannot simply tell them to wait until tomorrow if they need an immediate answer."

"Yes, you can, because they should be better organised than to need such a last-minute answer in the first place." Amedeo sounded thoroughly irritated, and Andrea could hardy blame him for that. Debating Guillaume's exaggerated work ethics, however, wasn't what he cared about right now.

"Amedeo..."

"He does have a point, Guillaume," Wills added in an attempt to sound reasonable. "Make people understand that your time is valuable."

Tatiana and Andrea exchanged a glance. "Guys," she tried, but wasn't heard.

"They understand that very well," Guillaume said primly. "Sometimes, matters have to be dealt with on short notice."

"Sometimes? It's not sometimes when you are overworked three days out of four."

"Guys," Tatiana tried again.

"Guillaume..." Wills sighed audibly. 

"William, I would thank you to stay out of this, it isn't- "

"Guys!" Tatiana interrupted, sharp enough this time to make them shut up. 

There was a stretch of wary silence from both the London and the Luxembourg side.

"Yes?" Carl ventured eventually. 

She smiled sweetly, and Andrea bent down to kiss her forehead. "I'm pregnant."

The quality of the silence turned from wary to stunned. 

"Twelve weeks."

"It's a peanut," Andrea couldn't help adding. Tatiana swatted him.

The silence stretched on, though Andrea thought he could detect some rapidly whispered conversation on both ends. 

"You are not saying that you are gestating a legume, are you?" Guillaume finally asked.

Andrea blinked. In his arms, Tatiana stiffened. "Amedeo?"

"Yes?" came the quick reply, the only acceptable answer when she used that tone of voice. Andrea felt faintly reassured that he wasn't the only one to snap to attention. 

"Hit him."

A chuckle, then a yelp from Guillaume. "Done, my dearest lady," Amedeo reported dutifully. "Is there anything else I may do for you?" In the background, their Hereditary Grand Duke was audibly muttering.

"Not for now," Tatiana told him. 

"Congratulations in that case, to you and to Andrea." The smirk was plain in his voice. "And the peanut, of course, he or she couldn't hope for better parents."

Tatiana glanced at Andrea. "If that name sticks, I'm blaming you."

"Why did you have to tell us this over the phone?" Carl asked, sounding so delighted that it brought a smile to Andrea's face. "Congratulations, you two. And don't think doing this long distance is getting you out of a hug as soon as I see you again."

"I should hope not," Andrea drawled. 

"Keep dreaming," Wills told him with a laugh. "And you'd better make sure you fulfil Tatiana's every wish from now on."

"As though I'd even consider doing any different," Andrea shot back and received a pleased pat on the knee from Tatiana. 

"He's being very good about that," she said and he just had to nuzzle at the crook of her neck, her soft hair tickling his nose. Her hand came up to pet his head, making him practically purr with satisfaction. "So, still coming to the Rose Ball in March?"

"Of course," Wills promised, followed immediately by Carl's agreement. "As though we'd miss that now."

***

They waited as long as possible before they told Albert. Strictly speaking, Andrea was not under any obligation to inform the Prince of Monaco of their impending offspring, but it would have been foolish to keep him out of the loop when it was hardly something they could hide forever. They'd have to make some sort of public announcement soon as well, before the press got hold of a few paparazzi pictures and started to spin insane tales. And as tempting as it was to let Albert find out via the media he loved so much, Andrea suspected that it would not be the wisest move.

He requested an audience, preferring the formal route rather than trying to catch hold of his uncle in a more private setting. An official appointment meant a defined time span and fewer opportunities for Albert to delay him or drag him off to a party, a gallery opening or some other event his uncle just happened to have to attend that day. By now, Andrea did not need anything extra added to his schedule. He was already sitting in on most council meetings - certainly on more than Albert - and only the knowledge that this was his only chance to learn kept him from feeling too much resentment that he was not permitted to make any moves or decisions whatsoever.

"Do you want to tell him, or should I?" Tatiana asked when they waited in the small antechamber to his uncle's office. There were no chairs anymore - removed, presumably, to discourage people from actually wanting to come here more often than absolutely necessary - so she was standing by Andrea's side and let him tug her closer in an attempt to make her comfortable and provide her with someone to lean against.

Andrea considered. "Let me do it," he said. "With you, he's more likely to interpret it as a threat."

Tatiana chuckled, then managed an impressive snarl. "I'll just growl at him if he doesn't get the idea, shall I?"

"That might end this audience a lot sooner than expected." Andrea bent to kiss her temple and cuddled her for a moment, until she stepped back and mock glowered at him. "What?"

"If you are going to keep this up for the next six months, you and I are going to have a problem," she threatened, but since there was a smile on her face, he figured that it was not too serious. 

"I'm merely trying to show my appreciation," he murmured. 

Tatiana quirked an eyebrow, but permitted him to move closer again. "By attaching yourself to me and not letting go under any circumstances?"

He nuzzled the crook of her neck, careful not to disturb her hair. "Why not?" he teased, then grew a little more serious. "Do you want me to stop?"

Her hand came up to cup his cheek. "Not if you really don't want to, but you're exaggerating," she told him, "just a little bit."

"As long as it's only a bit," he returned and received a knowing look in response. He still had not regained his equilibrium over the situation, still didn't know whether to be more happy or scared or concerned or excited, but as long as Tatiana seemed content, it had to be all right.

They waited another few minutes before they were called inside by one of Albert's assistants - a new face, Andrea noticed, but they changed quite rapidly these days as the flunkies struggled for power and for the influence it gave them to have their people so close to the Prince's everyday affairs. 

"Uncle Albert," Andrea said cheerfully as they went in and shook Albert's offered hand. "And Auntie dearest," he added with a lot less cordiality, knowing how much she loathed to be reminded that she belonged to the older generation. 

"Andrea," his uncle said with a nod and a wary look for Tatiana, then gestured towards the empty chair in front of the new polished wood desk - traditional style now, just like the new furnishings of the entire office. 

Andrea took one look at the single chair and offered it to Tatiana, then stood behind her when he could see no other seat anywhere. His uncle made no move to call for his assistant to remedy that situation, he noticed with plenty of displeasure. 

"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice," he said, offering a morsel of praise and gratitude as his opening move. Flattery was always a good choice with Albert. "I know you must be very busy."

"Very," Albert confirmed. "The demands of being a responsible ruler are simply endless."

As though he'd know anything about that, Andrea noted sourly. Tatiana leaned back in the chair, and he rested his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to ground himself. 

"Naturally," he agreed. "And we won't keep you for long, we just wanted to share some news with you."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his uncle's wife lean forward, a calculating frown in her eyes which would have shown on her mien as well if she'd still been able to twitch a facial muscle after all her treatments. 

"What news?" Albert asked.

"Good news," Andrea assured him, and once again could not keep the happy smile from his face. "We are expecting a baby."

Tatiana leaned her head against his arm, but stayed quiet for now. She'd butted heads with Albert a few times over the past year, always over his demands on Andrea, but the two had mostly avoided each other's presence. It had been marked enough that the press had begun to speculate, though so far they were attributing it to Tatiana's demure manners as long as she was no official member of the princely family, and only one or two had mumbled of tension and differences.

Albert very carefully did not look at her, but kept his eyes high enough to just see Andrea. "The timing is not very good," he said, his voice suddenly frosty, then glanced at his wife, who stared back at him. "Was that deliberate?"

Andrea felt Tatiana's shoulders tense beneath his hands. "We have been thinking of starting a family," he said, careful to avoid the question. Admitting to an accident didn't seem like a wise move, but it was more than obvious that Albert saw this as a hostile act somehow. "We _are_ getting married, after all."

"Don't think that this is going to change anything," his uncle's wife snapped. "Just because you might have knocked her up."

"We've got the tests to prove that," Andrea said, not sure where she was going. They'd expected her to be hostile; anything that made Andrea look more attractive as Albert's heir - such as taking care of the next generation of the succession - threatened her position and could make Albert more inclined to get rid of her. Without a child of her own to provide Albert with a direct heir, she was only kept around for decorative uses these days, and had been firmly relegated to her own bedroom in one of the side wings of the Palace. Sometimes he wondered why the woman was still here; that her marriage to Albert had been a failure from the start was impossible to miss. Whatever Albert was offering her to maintain appearances, it had to be considerable.

"So sure that the child's yours?" she followed up. 

"Actually," Tatiana spoke up for the first time, her tone wonderfully sweet and sincere, "it's not, we both took your kind advice about affairs with our royal friends to heart. We're just waiting to see whether the baby will be ginger."

Andrea bent forward to look at her. "I thought you didn't find Harry that attractive?" he asked.

Tatiana shrugged and gave him a playful wink. "Let's say he's got it where it counts."

"Well, in that case..." He kissed her on the cheek, unable to resist the gesture. "You'll forgive me for that brief fling with Guillaume, then?"

"The Hereditary Grand Duke?" Albert asked faintly. 

Andrea nodded cheerfully. "Sure. He's very accommodating in that regard. Very open-minded. And a hell of a good lay."

Tatiana looked up at him. "Remember to take me along next time, a ménage à trois with him and you sounds like a lot of fun."

Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out laughing, Andrea gave her a solemn nod and tried not to imagine what Guillaume would say if he knew they were using him as a smokescreen right now. Or what he'd say if, God beware, this conversation got leaked to the press somehow.

"In that case... congratulations," his uncle said, sounding thoroughly confused now.

Andrea flashed him a bright smile. "Thank you. We'll leave you to your work, then, we just thought you ought to know."

***  
 _March 2017_  
***

"Do you have any explanation," Guillaume asked him two weeks later, still bristling with indignation, "why the tabloids think you and I had an affair?"

Andrea blinked at him innocently. "I honestly have no idea," he said and absently applauded as another performance of the band finished. The Rose Ball's theme were the Roaring Twenties this year, and both music and decoration were as close to authentic as they had been able to manage. Andrea had liked the theme ever since he'd figured out he'd get to wear a trilby. "Surely anyone can tell that you aren't my type."

It went to show just how far Guillaume had come by now where relaxation around his peer group was concerned that he simply rolled his eyes. "That's reassuring to know. Very reassuring."

"Don't worry, you needn't be concerned about your virtue," Andrea told him. Fifteen years ago he might have been tempted by the idea, back when he hadn't had Tatiana yet and when Guillaume had been so caught up in his own sexual identity crisis. Then again, he'd already accompanied Carl through that particular revelation; if he'd done the same for Guillaume, too, he might as well have started to offer consultation services for sexually confused royalty.

The way Guillaume glanced at him made Andrea wonder if he, too, was thinking back to their first few encounters. But if he was, he at least looked a lot less furious with Andrea by now than he had back then, even though it had all been said and done with the best intentions in mind. 

"Have you done your preparations for the tax and finance conference yet?" Guillaume eventually asked in an abrupt change of topic, gaze fixed on the dance floor where Pierre and Alexandra were just launching into their next attempt at a Charleston.

It was Andrea's turn to roll his eyes. "Don't remind me," he muttered. Another international meeting he was supposed to attend, once more with complete and utter absence of assistance from anyone in Monaco who was actually supposed to be working on these issues. "Pierre's been putting some stuff together for me, and he's given me express orders to agree with anything you say."

Guillaume's lips twitched. "Excellent, just as it should be."

Andrea frowned at him. "Enjoy it while it lasts," he said, smiling when he spotted a certain Greco-Danish princess approaching. "Theodora, my dear! I was starting to think you were ignoring me."

Theodora sailed towards them with her usual flair and with hugs and kisses for Andrea before she turned to their Hereditary Grand Duke and managed to have him politely hold still for the same kind of greeting. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she'd mercilessly hunt him down that made Guillaume resign himself to his fate. 

"I should ignore you," she told Andrea with a exaggerated huff and linked her arm with Guillaume's. "Now that you have seduced the love of my life."

Eyebrows raised, Andrea glanced at her, then at Guillaume. "You do realise he's been married to another man for two years now?" 

She waved her free hand. "Details," she said and leaned in to peck Guillaume on the cheek. "He'll come to his senses."

Guillaume didn't seem about to try and extricate himself from her grip (not that it would have been anything but a futile attempt in any case). One of those odd and unexpected friendships, those two; Andrea would never have pegged them as likely to get along well, but they seemed to balance each other in occasionally frightening ways. "I'm afraid I'll disappoint you there. But if you would like some assistance in finding a suitable husband for yourself - or a wife, for that matter..."

Theodora's sudden glower was enough to shut him up. "You still owe me for forcing me to tell my mother that I broke up with you," she growled. "She's still asking why I couldn't simply overlook the fact that you're gay."

Andrea quickly waved one of the waiters over and passed out the first glasses of drinks he could grab from the tray. "That would have presented a minor obstacle," he drawled. 

"Nothing we couldn't have overcome, I'm sure." Theodora had an experimental sip of her cocktail, pulled a face and swapped it for Guillaume's, apparently preferring the look of that one. "It's all a matter of flexibility."

"Don't take it the wrong way, but I am quite happy with how it all turned out," Guillaume told her. 

"Too much woman for you?" Andrea teased.

Guillaume gave him a haughty look, but there was an amused twinkle in his eyes that wouldn't have been there a year or two ago. "I could never aspire to present an adequate partner to such a formidable lady."

"That's one way of putting it," Andrea agreed. "And exactly what I usually tell Tatiana."

"Where is she, anyway?" Theodora wanted to know. 

"Wills and Carl kidnapped her earlier, I think they wanted a chance to talk to her in private." He tried his drink - a banana daiquiri, it turned out - and looked around, but couldn't spot her or her royal escorts anywhere in the crowd right now. It was only the knowledge that she was in good hands which kept him from going to look for her. "I tried to persuade her to stay at home, but she wouldn't have that."

"Of course not," Theodora said. "She's pregnant, not ill."

There wasn't much Andrea could say in reply to that, so he simply shrugged. "I just don't want her to exhaust herself, that's all."

Theodora rubbed his arm in consolation. "You," she informed him, "are cute. Completely mistaken about the whole thing, but cute nonetheless. It makes up for much. And probably it's the reason why she hasn't strangled you yet if you fuss like this."

"I don't fuss," Andrea protested. 

"If you say so."

"I don't," he insisted. "Guillaume, tell her I don't."

Guillaume, traitor that he was, merely hid his smile behind his cocktail and refused to comment. But at least he was smiling and not shooting them irritated glances instead, even though he once again looked as though he was running on too much caffeine and not enough sleep. 

Andrea wasn't the only one aware of that little problem; Wills had already given Guillaume a perfunctory grumble earlier that day which had sent their Hereditary Grand Duke straight into defensive denial. And Amedeo was permanently hovering and definitely not about to let his husband out of sight, though so far he'd refrained from commenting in public. Even now, chatting with Theodora's brother Philippos and with Pierre, he kept glancing in their direction and, noticing Andrea's gaze, quirked an inquisitive eyebrow before excusing himself and strolling across the room to join them.

"Trying to seduce my beloved, are you?" he asked after collecting a quick kiss from Guillaume which, after a lot of practise attempts in public, looked almost casual by now. 

"Which of us?" Theodora wanted to know.

Amedeo looked at her. "Both of you," he said. "I know he is hard to resist, but he's mine and I'm not sharing."

Guillaume cast him a glance full of amusement and something else, too complicated to read, and permitted himself to be gently drawn away from Theodora. "I believe I'm capable of defending myself against these two."

Borrowing Guillaume's glass, Amedeo had a sip and frowned. "Since when do you drink margaritas? As for these two, they're sneaky, don't underestimate them. If the paparazzi manage to get a picture of the three of you while you look all cosy, the headlines are going to be interesting."

"They're going to be even more interesting if you're in the photograph as well," Theodora said. "Then they'll just comment that obviously Guillaume had your permission to tumble into bed with us."

Amedeo pretended to consider. "The idea has some merit," he said, ignoring Guillaume's brief consternation at the thought. "Though I'm not sure whether anyone would actually believe it."

Andrea nodded. "True, Guillaume and I heading off for a quick roll in the hay is about as likely as you ever having a one night stand with... oh, I don't know, Philippos."

A second later, he had the sinking feeling that he'd said something very stupid when Amedeo's laugh rang forced and came a second too late to be anything but perfunctory.

"Guillaume, you haven't told me yet whether Anna and Félix are going to have a girl or a boy this time," Theodora, obviously catching on as well, tried a drastic change of topic in a scramble for distraction. "She's due in a few weeks, isn't she?"

Guillaume, in an absolutely uncharacteristically impolite display, ignored her and instead stared at his husband. "Tell me you didn't," he demanded, stepping away.

Amedeo met his eyes and held his gaze squarely. "You want me to lie?" he shot back in the same sharp tone. "Guillaume, we've had this conversation before, I don't have to justify my actions from the times before you and I ever got together. And you bloody well know that I'd not consider it even for a moment now!"

"So how many more exes of yours do I have to find out about?" Guillaume shot back and now sounded as chilly as Andrea remembered from that disastrous state visit when they'd managed to completely mess up their chances at friendship for a good decade. "Amedeo-"

"What?" Amedeo snapped. "What? Have I slept with Philippos? Yes. Has that been before I even thought you and I were a possibility? Bloody hell, _yes_. Would I do it again now? Is that what you want to know?"

His lips pressed together in a thin line, Guillaume said nothing. Andrea could have whacked him for that much stupidity.

"Damn it, Guillaume!"

"No, I don't want to know!" Guillaume backed up further in what had to be an unconscious move, because if that was deliberate then he was a complete and utter idiot. "But I want to know if you'd ever have told me!"

"Why should I if you're just going to take everything in the worst way possible? Do you think I want to listen to your accusations? Do I want to hear that you think I'd do this? Bloody hell, and you wonder why I don't tell you about this stuff?"

Andrea caught Theodora's eyes and saw the same blend of irritation and despair there which he felt himself.

"If you won't tell me then how am I supposed to know that there's nothing?"

It was Amedeo's turn to fall silent for a moment before descending into a string of muttered Italian profanities strong enough to make Andrea's ears ring. 

"Enough," Theodora hissed and grabbed Guillaume by the arm, firm enough to make him stumble a step towards her. "You, come with me. Andrea, get the other idiot and see if you can talk some sense into him."

Guillaume attempted to shake off her hand. "Theodora-"

"Shut up. Now." With that she stalked off, dragging him behind her like a disobedient child. He didn't resist past the first few seconds, but didn't react when she offered him her arm in clear invitation. 

Staring after them, his attention on his retreating husband, Amedeo flinched when Andrea poked his shoulder. 

"Come on, then," Andrea told him firmly and drew him along, though a little less vigorously than Theodora had done with her half of the irate pair. "My office."

"You have an office?" Amedeo tried to quip, but didn't manage his usual light-hearted tone. 

Andrea magnanimously overlooked it, since it kept his friend from making even more of a spectacle. There still was press around, and he had the uneasy feeling that there'd be photos tomorrow, and possibly even someone who'd overheard the whole discussion. The paps had a nose for that sort of thing, and Guillaume and Amedeo still presented a moderately interesting couple as far as gossip was concerned. 

"Of course I have an office," he said as he led the way past a security guard into the cordoned-off section of the Palace that had been deemed off limits for the evening. "I commandeered it from one of Uncle Albert's flunkies three months ago. So far, the man hasn't even noticed that I moved in."

A few turns around corners, down one of the rarely used back staircases, then they were in the hallway where people actually got some work done on occasion. Andrea opened the door to his office, ushered Amedeo inside and shut it firmly behind them.

"So what was that about?" he asked, leaning against the door in a half-deliberate way to cut off the only realistic route of escape. If Amedeo felt motivated enough about this to climb out of a second-floor window, then Andrea figured stopping him was only the beginning of their problems.

His arms crossed over his chest, Amedeo came to a halt in the middle of the room, right on the Persian carpet from Andrea's grandfather's office which had been spirited away when Albert had done his first bout of decorating. "He's being irrational about it."

Andrea quirked an eyebrow and said nothing. 

"We already went over this," Amedeo continued and began to pace, "two years ago. You'd think that would be enough, but apparently not. He cannot have thought that I never had any relationships - I was twenty-five when we got together, for Heaven's sake! Did he think I was a blushing virgin?"

"That would require a lot of suspended disbelief," Andrea said dryly. "I daresay he didn't think about it much."

Amedeo raised a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, his old nervous tick surfacing once again. "No, but whenever something like this comes up, he reacts as though I am about to leave him, and I'm so damned tired of that. I haven't done anything to give him even the slightest bit of reason to think that I'd sleep around, because why the hell would I? He's who I want in my life, he's who I've wanted in my life for a lot longer than he's probably realised, so why would I throw that away now? Yes, so I had a few relationships before, but so what? So did he, and I'm not throwing a tantrum about that!"

Andrea watched him take a sharp turn to the right, then stop abruptly when he unexpectedly came up against the shoulder-height potted palm by the visitors' desk. He stopped for a second, then spun around and faced Andrea, his expression stormy. 

"I don't get it," he went on. "I trust him, and I'd do so even if I didn't bloody well know that he simply has no time to take up with someone else. And he's... you know Guillaume, you know how damned serious and sincere he can get, so when he says he trusts me in turn, I believe him and I'd never do anything to break that faith. But then he comes up with such idiotic irrational insecurities when he doesn't have the slightest reason, and I get it thrown in my face again that I didn't tell him about something when it's long past and has absolutely no impact on the present and on our future. And then he wonders why I haven't mentioned it before! Going through this crap once was bad enough, but doing it twice is once too many." He shook his head. "If we're going to have this fight over all my past relationships..."

"Had that many?" Andrea asked, head cocked, his fingers tapping idly against the wood of the door. 

Amedeo scowled at him. "I really don't think that's any of your business."

Andrea shrugged. "Perhaps not. But I've never heard anything about you doing all that much bed-hopping, on and off the royal circle, so I figure we're not talking legions." Tatiana and his New York acquaintances had gossiped once or twice about Amedeo, but there'd never been anything of substance. That crowd could sniff out an affair a mile against the wind, they presented a fairly good yardstick in that regard. "You've had it out with Guillaume over two of them now, I'm guessing there aren't that many skeletons left in the closet anymore."

"If you're just curious, then this really isn't the moment." Amedeo resumed his pacing, staying away from the potted palm by now. Andrea let him walk for a few moments to vent at least some of all that nervous, agitated energy, then pushed away from the door.

"Sit down," he ordered with a jerk of his head towards the small leather couch in the visitors' corner. 

Amedeo frowned at him and briefly looked rebellious, but eventually obeyed.

"Good, now listen," Andrea said firmly, faintly wondering just how he'd stumbled into the position of relationship referee. This was why they kept Wills around, he ought to be the one who talked sense into stubborn blue-blooded heads. "I get that you're pissed off that Guillaume's... shall we call it irritated, over Philippos. It's over and done with, I'd have to be blind not to see that, and he doesn't have the right to ask about it."

Amedeo nodded cautiously as he perched on the edge of the couch.

"But," Andrea went on, "I can also see why our dear Hereditary Grand Duke is throwing a tantrum. And while he may not have the right to ask, I'd say he's got a right to know. I can't imagine anyone wants to be blindsided like this, and look, I'm sorry I stumbled over this one, but if you've shagged anyone else on the royal circuit you'd better come clean."

He didn't think there was anyone - the royal gossip mill was even more reliable than the one among his normal friends - but Amedeo had managed to keep his relationship with Guillaume secret for a few years, he might just have practised with someone else earlier.

But his friend just shook his head. "Philippos was a one-time thing. I'm really not enough of an idiot to get involved with another royal."

Andrea snorted. "Says the man who's married to the heir apparent to the throne of Luxembourg."

"Any royal other than Guillaume," Amedeo amended, rolling his eyes. "He's been the only one."

Andrea shot him a curious look. "So it's been puppy love for you? Cute. But then I really don't get why you didn't grab him once you were old enough, it's not like he had anything going on. It's hard to miss that he's just as mad about you, in his own proper and well-mannered way, as you are about him."

"I couldn't." Amedeo sighed, his hand again coming up to the bridge of his nose, but he caught himself and turned his nervous displacement gesture into a pretence of raking his fingers through his by now hopelessly tousled hair. "He's heir to a throne, there were so many expectations riding on him because of that. Not just about doing the actual work, but about marriage and being all proper and conformist and finding a suitable wife and siring at least two children. It _had_ to be his decision, don't you see? I couldn't push him into that in any way, it wouldn't have been fair to him."

Andrea successfully fought the urge to roll his eyes at yet another example of how birthduty could mess things up. "Well, that loses me a bottle of champagne," he said. "I bet Wills and Carl that it was you who made the first move with you two. Carl still thinks Guillaume exploited your innocence in some nefarious plot."

All Amedeo did in response to that was cock an eloquent eyebrow. 

"Exactly," Andrea agreed. "But really, I don't see why you couldn't. Guillaume's old enough to say no. You're tempting, but you aren't that irresistible."

"Tempting? Don't let Guillaume hear that, or he'll declare war on you."

Andrea smirked. "Bring it on," he drawled. "We'll have a good, old-fashioned duel over you and once I've won, you can come and live with Tatiana and me as our pet archduke."

Amedeo's lips twitched despite his efforts to maintain a dignified expression.

"We'll get you a proper collar and all," Andrea promised. "A really nice and soft one so it won't chafe."

"Sorry, but I really think I'd rather keep Guillaume," Amedeo told him, all that royal training paying off and enabling him to keep a straight face. 

"Pity, we could have had a lot of fun. Ah well, someone needs to make sure that Guillaume occasionally stops being so horribly serious and restrained, and you already volunteered for that job. A good thing that is, too, he'd be a hard sell to anyone else."

Narrowing his eyes, Amedeo leaned backwards, arms crossed over his chest. "I should be offended on his behalf."

Andrea waved a hand. "It's true and you know it, considering how much time you spend ruffling him and dragging him off on breaks. Just looking after that man has to be a full-time job already." And so far Amedeo was doing quite well at it; Guillaume still looked ready to collapse at times, but Andrea suspected that if he hadn't got Amedeo to forcibly stop him on occasion, he'd long have succumbed to burn-out already. 

"He's dedicated," Amedeo said loyally.

"He's an insane workaholic," Andrea corrected bluntly. "And he needs someone to keep an eye on him, so I suggest you two make sure to patch things up."

Amedeo sighed. "Yes, my lord."

"Oh come on, it can't be that bad. Sure, Philippos is a bit tricky and you can bet Theodora will want to have a few words with you about that, but if you didn't tumble into bed with anyone else Guillaume actually knows, you'll be fine. He can't be entirely unreasonable about the fact that you had a sex life." Andrea paused, head cocked speculatively. "You know, now that I think of it, Philippos could actually pass as a taller version of your beloved husband. God knows the media agencies have mixed them up often enough, so I wonder if-"

"Andrea," Amedeo interrupted firmly, "shut up."

"Well, as long as Philippos didn't complain. So, ready to go back to your husband and confess all about your past paramours? You know, if you want to practise, I am sure we can hide for another hour or two, or however long it takes..."

In response, Amedeo got up from the couch. "Like I said, it's none of your business," he repeated, though he sounded a lot friendlier now than before. 

"No, and as long as he doesn't kick you out tonight and I'm forced to find another room for you to sleep in, you're welcome to handle it by yourself." Andrea opened the door and gestured for Amedeo to precede him. "If you do end up in need of a place to crash... though right now Tatiana wouldn't appreciate it, she's a bit cranky in the mornings. I'm not sure how she'd react to waking up with a Habsburg."

"It's a step up from waking up with a quasi-Grimaldi," Amedeo shot back. "Besides, we've got Anna and Félix as neighbours, right now I've got a lot of practice when it comes to dealing with pregnant women. The trick is to smile, nod and simply do as commanded."

"Words of wisdom," Andrea agreed. Tatiana was getting a little less cooperative about having him take care of her by now - only this morning he'd had a pillow thrown at his head when he'd attempted to rub her ankles, just because he'd remarked that they didn't look swollen yet. "Come on, let's go find your husband or he'll think you and I have eloped to South America."

They found Guillaume in one of the smaller salons, supervised by Tatiana and Theodora and thoroughly cowed. One glance at him and Amedeo smoothly insinuated himself between him and the two women in what looked like an automatic move to distract and give Guillaume some breathing space. A few seconds of banter, then he bent down to whisper in Guillaume's ear and was rewarded with a quick nod. 

"We'll see you for breakfast?" Andrea said, magnanimously giving them an opening to leave.

Amedeo winked at him, though he didn't look too eager about the impending talk with his husband. "Maybe."

***

The next day, Andrea managed to achieve verticality a little after noon and stumbled out of bed in search of all-important caffeine. Then stumbled back into his bedroom to put on shorts and, on second thought, a t-shirt before he headed a few steps down the hallway to the kitchen in the wing of the Palais Princier that had been mostly taken over by his mother and siblings for the past few years.

All royal guests had been offered quarters within the Palais to make it easier for them to avoid the paparazzi after the Rose Ball, and Andrea had made certain that his friends were assigned rooms close to his own. Safe territory where his uncle and his aunt-by-marriage didn't dare to go, an important consideration given that the latter had attempted to sidle up to Wills with ill-placed and unwelcome offers during the ball. Andrea didn't think she'd go as far as showing up in someone's bed without being invited, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Carl and Wills were already awake as well and sitting at the kitchen table with Tatiana, who was nursing a mug of tea and looking enviously at the filled espresso cups. Pausing in the doorway, Andrea just watched for a second as his beloved and his two closest friends shared a joke, heads leaning together and Carl's hand on Tatiana's shoulder in an unconscious gesture to get her attention. It was a sight he wouldn't have minded to wake up to more often.

"Morning," he said, and one blond and two dark heads turned towards him. 

"Looks like we won't need that bucket of water after all," Carl said, waving him over and down on one of the free chairs. "Slept well?"

Andrea nodded distractedly, most of his attention on pouring himself a cup of coffee from the French press. 

"Like the dead," Tatiana answered for him. "Only they don't snore."

Wills shot him a disapproving look before focusing on her again. "You should be able to sleep in peace and quiet," he said.

Before Andrea could gather his wits enough to defend himself, Tatiana came to his rescue. "That's just after parties, but it's sweet of you to worry. I'll simply have a nap in the afternoon, that's all."

A nap, comfortably curled up with Tatiana... Andrea approved wholeheartedly. He caught up her hand and brought it to his mouth to press a kiss against her fingertips, content with the world in general and this moment in particular when she gave him a smile in response. 

"A nap sounds like an idea," Carl murmured from behind his coffee cup. 

"Does Wills snore, too?" Tatiana asked. 

Carl and Wills looked at each other. "That really wasn't the problem last night," Wills said. "Andrea, I'm sorry if this causes any complications, but if it's at all possible, please put Guillaume and Amedeo into a room that doesn't border ours. We didn't get even a whiff of sleep last night because of those two."

Andrea needed a moment to rally his thoughts, then waggled his eyebrows. "I take it they resolved their argument?"

"Thoroughly and with great vigour," Wills assured him. "There's no doubt whatsoever about that."

"Interesting night, was it?" Andrea asked, reluctantly releasing Tatiana's hand to reach for his coffee, the cup warm against his fingertips.

Carl rolled his eyes. "Depends on your definition of 'interesting'," he said. "There are a few things I really didn't need to know about those two."

"That's just because you still cling to the misguided notion that Amedeo is sweet and innocent," Andrea told him. "What things, by the way?"

Laughing, Carl leaned back in his chair. "Put them into the room next to yours, then you'll find out. What happened with them yesterday, anyway? I saw they had an argument. Anything serious, or was it just an excuse to spend the night having reconciliatory sex?"

Andrea exchanged a quick glance with Tatiana. He'd told her, of course, and she'd known part of it already anyway from Theodora's quick heads-up. "A lack of communication," he said and saw Tatiana's quiet nod. "Amedeo forgot to mention to Guillaume that he and Philippos had a bit of fun once, and our dear Hereditary Grand Duke didn't take the news too well when it came up."

"Philippos?" Wills asked, sounding incredulous. "Seriously? But he's so, so..."

Tatiana shrugged. "If I had to guess, it was a matter of right time, right place and no-one better to do with those two. And from what you say, Amedeo and Guillaume have patched up their disagreement over whether it should have been mentioned before or not."

"Though I guess we'd better check to see that Amedeo isn't still cuffed to the bedposts," Andrea couldn't help adding. "Guillaume did look quite possessively growly last night."

Carl sighed. "Did you have to mention that?" 

Tatiana reached out to pet his hair. "Just go on believing that little Amedeo is all cute and harmless and that they entertain themselves at night with a bit of Monopoly if it makes you feel better."

Andrea glanced at her. "A Habsburg and a Nassau playing Monopoly? Especially these two? I'm not sure I find that reassuring. I'd rather think of them having sex instead, they're less likely to get ideas for world domination that way."

They kept up the friendly banter for a while, moving from their friends on to other topics which didn't require too much focus and concentration. The Rose Ball was always fun, and this year it had been a success (mostly thanks to Andrea's mother handling it all by herself and banning Albert from taking any official part in it), but it had also left Andrea wrung out mentally and physically after weeks of careful plotting and planning. All official appearances of himself and his family now had the added intention of presenting him as a viable alternative to Albert, and Andrea knew that his mother was just waiting for the opportune moment to increase the pressure on her brother to step down and hand the reins to the next ruler. For him, that meant he had to be on his best behaviour at all times, and he was coming to learn that maintaining a perfect public facade was a lot more exhausting than he'd imagined. 

"It's a matter of mild schizophrenia," Wills told him when he mentioned that thought. "You need to make sure that you separate your private life from your public duties, or you'll never manage to wind down. Think of it as playing a role, that makes it a lot easier to switch off once you're done with your appointments."

Carl nodded in agreement, his hand coming to cover his husband's where it rested on the table. "You'll need that divide. Look at us, we're Prince William of Wales and Prince Carl Philip of Sweden whenever we're doing something official, but we're doing our best to just be Wills and Carl once we're off duty."

Leaning in, Wills placed an affectionate kiss to the tip of Carl's ear in a gesture Andrea had seen from him more than once, usually during public appearances. Habit, he presumed, or perhaps a private little ritual to help with maintaining their roles. "The trick is showing enough of yourself to be genuine, but not so much that you have nothing left," Wills explained. "You need that private bit of your life, or it won't work in the long run because you'll feel like you're on duty every minute of the day."

"Is that where, say, Guillaume went wrong?" Tatiana asked. "He doesn't seem to get that division right."

Wills shook his head. "Actually, he perfected it, what with going behind everyone's back with Amedeo for years. I think most of the current crop of heirs know how to do it, or we'd have heard of someone going crazy by now."

"Or crazier than they already are," Carl amended. "You don't have to be mad to be a working royal..."

"... but it helps," Tatiana completed the old joke. "Ah well, normality is overrated anyway."

Carl shot her an amused glance. "I bet Andrea is glad you think so."

"Very," Andrea drawled, thoroughly happy when Tatiana permitted him to nuzzle the crook of her neck and even raised her hand to pet him. "Though for her I'd even try to be normal."

The statement was rewarded with a chuckle and a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. "Don't bother," she told him. "I prefer you just the way you are."

***  
 _April 2017_  
***

A few days later, she didn't like him all that much anymore. Perhaps it was the way he insisted on doing all the heavy lifting for her, down to and including carrying her sandwich from the kitchen to the table. Or his attempts to guess in advance what she might need next, and try to arrange it before she had to voice her wishes. Maybe it was the way he stopped sleeping all that much because doing so was slightly terrifying, what with the risk of accidentally hugging her too tightly or stealing the blanket or making some other harmful move while unaware.

Whatever it was, it ended with him being handed a packed overnight bag, a plane ticket to Luxembourg (since Wills and Carl, who'd have been the first choice, were busy being royal in Canada together) and growled instructions to stay there until permitted to come back.

Andrea attempted to protest. 

There was more growling.

He attempted to call his mother in the hope of having her talk some sense into Tatiana.

An hour later, Pierre had been permitted into the apartment and was murmuring at Tatiana about the need for peace and quiet, was promising stomach-settling teas and snacks invented by Scottish witches for expecting mothers, and was generally siding with her in all matters down to and including the righteousness of kicking Andrea out for a few days.

Andrea glowered at his treacherous brother. Pierre merely shrugged, went to fetch Tatiana another cushion, and received a pat in reward for an off-hand comment about irritating men.

When their mother stopped by as well and told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn't want to risk Tatiana to do unspeakable things to his balls, he'd better obey her commands, Andrea capitulated.

"I don't understand why Pierre is allowed to stay," he complained to Amedeo when his friend collected him from the airport. "He's got a cock, too."

"But not the one that got her pregnant," Amedeo said and shoved a paper cup of coffee at him in a transparent attempt to placate him a little. "Don't worry, if she's anything like Anna then it's going to be fine again once the baby is born."

Andrea cast him a disparaging look. "That's in five months."

"Better get used to sleeping on the couch in that case." Amedeo picked up Andrea's bag for him and led the way towards the exit. "Félix did, too, but everything's fine again now."

"How are he and Anna doing, anyway? And the little one?" There had been another early morning call from Guillaume, somewhat more coherent this time than when his first niece and heir had been born. 

"Everything's perfect," Amedeo said, a happy smile on his face. One less concern for him as well - the succession in Luxembourg was more or less safe now that there were both a heir and a spare, so he wouldn't be facing any criticism over causing the Grand Ducal house to go extinct because he'd dared to ensnare Guillaume. "They're home already and putting the finishing touches on the christening next month. It's driving Guillaume crazy that they won't tell him the name yet."

Picking up a hint of smugness in his voice, Andrea glanced at him, eager for a bit of distraction. "You know?"

Amedeo smirked. "Of course I do. I spent the last months supplying Anna with chocolate and besides, consorts always stick together. But it's far too much fun to see him all nervous about not knowing. He doesn't usually fret over harmless little things."

"You," Andrea informed him, "have an evil, evil streak. I like it."

Sketching a bow, Amedeo opened the passenger door of his car for Andrea. "I do my best. So what are you having?"

Andrea sighed and waited for Amedeo to get in as well. "We don't know yet," he confessed as he fastened his seat belt. 

Amedeo frowned. "The peanut isn't cooperating?"

There'd be a lot of awkward explaining to do in ten years' time as to that nickname, especially since it seemed to stick with all the aunts and uncles, by ties of blood and of friendship, by now. Andrea just hoped that the child wouldn't turn out to be allergic to his or her namesake.

"Not so far, no. But there's still time, at some point we've got to get a sonogram where we'll see something." Fortunately it didn't matter in any way. Andrea had no preferences whatsoever - the idea of a baby was still startling enough without going into details like gender - and neither did Tatiana. It might present an issue with the succession if they happened to have a girl and later a boy, but that was yet another topic Andrea tried very hard not to think about right now. One child was frightening enough already without adding a second one. 

Albert hadn't made any moves so far to alter the constitution to allow for the oldest child to succeed regardless of gender. For once that omission seemed prompted not by sheer laziness but by actual calculation: Andrea's mother was Albert's older sister, and such an alteration would only strengthen her claim (and by proxy that of Andrea) to the throne. It wasn't something Albert would have figured out by himself, but his flunkies would certainly understand the implications of it all. They didn't know for sure that something was up, but they were watching Andra with a lot more caution these days than before.

"The peanut is a Grimaldi, I wouldn't count on matters being simple," Amedeo teased and started the car. No driver, no security... Andrea was somewhat surprised by that, but then again, strictly speaking Amedeo was expendable. And, from what Andrea knew about his friend's dislike of staff fussing over him, probably perfectly content with maintaining that idea as long as it let him go about part of his life without permanent observation. "Do you mind stopping by the Palace for an hour or two? I need to take care of a few things, I couldn't get everything out of the way in time when Tatiana called and told us she's exiling you."

"Don't worry, I can entertain myself," Andrea assured him, though he hoped he wouldn't have to do so for long. Right now, being left to his own devices meant that he had time to think, and time to think meant that he could come up with new, scary ideas about all the challenges of parenthood. 

A father. Of a real, live child. Even with some time already to get used to the thought, it was still equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. At least Tatiana seemed confident that he'd be able to do this - when she didn't kick him out for fussing that was - which was a balm on his frayed nerves. 

Intellectually he knew that he'd do his best and that in all likelihood it would turn out well. But the mere idea of being responsible for a small human being didn't compare in any way to babysitting younger siblings, and Andrea simply could not wrap his mind around the concept just yet. Tatiana's doctor, when he'd mentioned that concern, had merely patted his hand in a vaguely reassuring manner and told him that he'd figure it all out when it was time.

"Andrea," he heard his name being said, and when he looked over at Amedeo, realised that it probably hadn't been the first time. "Everything all right?"

"Yes, yes, just..." He gestured vaguely, not certain how to put it. "It's just all going a bit fast these days."

Amedeo shot him an amused grin. "You should have remembered that pregnancies usually come after the wedding, not at the same time."

Andrea sighed. "We didn't do it on purpose," he muttered. 

"I know, I'm just teasing. Hey, do you want to do me a favour?"

It was a transparent - and probably deliberately so - attempt at distraction, and Andrea gratefully seized the offered change of topic. "Depends. Will we need permission from Tatiana and Guillaume for it?"

"Sorry, not that sort of favour," Amedeo returned. "The idea may be fascinating, but I fear we'd better leave that purely speculative."

Andrea nodded sagely. "True. The world couldn't possibly handle that much combined awesomeness."

"Exactly, tragic as it may be." It was testament to Amedeo's lifelong training as a prim and proper royal that he managed to keep a straight face even when Andrea descended into laughter. 

It took Andrea a little until he managed to pull himself together again, at least some of the tension gone now. It struck him that Amedeo probably knew very well what he was doing, given that he probably got to practise defusing high-strung nerves and easing stress on his husband on a regular basis. Yet another display of those consort skills, at least of the ones fit for public consumption and not reserved for Guillaume these days.

"So what favour were you talking about?" he asked.

Amedeo focused on the road for a few seconds before he answered. "Distract Guillaume for an hour or so this afternoon? I need to sit down with his assistant so we can wrangle his schedule for next month from insane down to borderline acceptable, but we can't do that with him hovering. By now he's caught on that his precious workload is in danger whenever Marie and I have coffee together."

Andrea cocked his head. "You mean pry him away from work? Guillaume? Are you certain that's doable? I mean, sure, you manage on a regular basis, but you have means of persuasion in your repertoire which probably won't work if I use them."

He received a quirked eyebrow in return. "You've got to work with what you have. But it should be enough if you have anything you want his input on. Or I can just tell him that you're our guest and that he'd better be polite and take you for a walk or something. All you need to do is look interested while he shows you around the garden."

There had been another situation with that constellation, just in reverse, almost fifteen years ago when Andrea had been the one to play host to Guillaume on one of his first official visits to Monaco. The outcome back then had been an unmitigated disaster.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked. 

Amedeo shrugged and flicked the indicator before turning to the right, into the narrow streets of the old town. Luxembourg was a lot like Monaco in how close together everything was; not like London, where a car ride from the airport to the city centre could easily take an hour. "He doesn't have anything scheduled for this afternoon, so we can justifiably make him babysit a guest. Normally he'd leave you to me, but I do have a few genuine things to deal with, and we really can't ask Aunt Maria Teresa to entertain you."

The mere prospect of spending the next few hours in the company of the Grand Duchess was worrisome. Andrea had met her a few times and thought of her as a warm and kind woman, but there was no denying that she was cut from the same formidable cloth as Theodora and Madeleine. Those royal valkyries tended to grow more fearsome with age. "I'll take Guillaume in that case."

"Smart choice. Just ignore his grumbling and don't let him make you feel bad over dragging him away from work."

Guillaume grumbled indeed when he was informed that he had Andrea to take care of for the afternoon, though he appeared somewhat placated when Amedeo drew him in for a quick, well-calculated kiss and a murmur to his ear which, judging his briefly tempted look, had to consist of bribery.

"I'll catch up with you two in the evening, and until then, play nice," Amedeo cheerfully instructed before he vanished from Guillaume's office again. 

Andrea looked at Guillaume. Guillaume looked back and held his gaze for a second, then heaved a sigh and rose up from his chair. 

"Shall we go?" he asked after a last look full of longing at the tidy stacks of folders and print-outs on his work desk.

Andrea sketched a bow. "After you, Monseigneur," he drawled. 

Guillaume frowned at him. "Whatever you did to make Tatiana send you here..." he muttered as he stepped past Andrea and out into the hallway. 

"I got her pregnant and now she's irritated and says that I fuss too much," Andrea said simply, too focused on teasing their Hereditary Grand Duke to spend too much thought on the words and have yet another anxiety attack. "That's one advantage you do have over me. Amedeo isn't going to hold you responsible for morning sickness, no matter how much fun you two have in bed. Or out of bed, for that matter."

Guillaume rolled his eyes, but didn't raise to the bait, which only made the challenge more interesting. "I suggest we start with the official reception rooms," he said and led the way down a narrow passage, around a corner into a more representative hallway lined with ancestral portraits, the sound of their footsteps swallowed by the thick Persian carpet. "You certainly are aware that the Grand Ducal Palace was the residence of the Grand Ducal family for part of the last century, and that it is now solely used for official functions."

It took an effort to maintain at least a semblance of interest while Guillaume rattled off facts and figures and dates spanning five centuries of architectural history and occasional tidbits whenever they passed the portrait of an ancestor worth a remark. By the time they'd covered the first two hundred years, Andrea had zoned out and was idly contemplating the Nassau preference for combining the colours blue and orange, as evidenced in the portraits, and whether such a blatant mismatch spoke of deeper issues. 

"... and of course the Congress of Vienna settlement then clarified the status as a Grand Duchy, with King Willem I of the Netherlands as the first Grand Duke. I believe this was also when Monaco became a protectorate of the Savoys?"

Andrea blinked at the sudden turn of events. "We don't talk about the Savoys," he said dismissively. "Crazy, the lot of them. And yes, I know your Habsburg is one quarter Savoy, but really, that only proves my point."

Guillaume sighed. "I do wish you'd get over your irrational prejudices in that regard."

"Hardly irrational, just look at them. But you're biased, of course. And I'm not saying that being crazy is a disqualification for being royal. Seems to me that these days it's actually an advantage."

They'd stopped in front of an oil painting depicting a group of princes and princesses, all flowing dresses, curly white wigs and serene smiles. Ancestors of Guillaume without doubt, though Andrea couldn't spot any immediate family resemblance.

"You'll have it easy then," Guillaume said.

Andrea shrugged. "I'd have to be royal for that, wouldn't I? We're barely a princely house."

The look Guillaume gave him at that was far too shrewd for comfort, and Andrea had the uneasy suspicion that he wasn't the only one who kept thinking back to their first real encounter at the moment. No real titles, no sense of responsibility, all show with nothing of substance behind it... even after all this time, Guillaume's words still rang true, never mind that Andrea could hardly do anything about it. 

"You already compensate for the lack of royalty with extra insanity," Guillaume told him after a second's consideration. "And I'm not going to say anything about Prince Albert, but you are doing a good job with the opportunities and the resources they're giving you."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence, having you call me insane means a lot," Andrea said with a smile that was half mocking, half genuine. Praise from Guillaume was hard to come by, and their Hereditary Grand Duke knew what he was talking about when it came to being properly royal. Or princely, in Andrea's case.

Guillaume's expression changed from thoughtful to slightly exasperated, a mien Andrea felt far more comfortable with when it came to him. "One of these days you will have to admit to yourself and the world that you are actually taking this seriously."

Andrea took a step backwards. "That would utterly ruin my reputation, I can't possibly do that."

All the protest earned him was a sceptically raised eyebrow. "Are you attending the microstate conference next week?" 

Andrea nodded, cautious when he could not quite figure out where this was going. "Uncle Albert wasn't going to send a delegation at first, so I volunteered." It had taken quite an effort to convince the state council that it would be worth the expenses, and Andrea would be settled with a group of delegates intent on treating it all as a joyride, but by now he knew how to handle that. 

"And how are your preparations coming along?" Guillaume asked, clasping his hands behind his back as they moved on to the next painting. 

"I've given up relying on the figures and numbers from Albert's flunkies, that makes it a lot easier. But if you've got notes to share, I'm willing to offer you my vote on a few matters in exchange." He paused. "Not on the budgetary issues, though, we'll be butting heads over that one because the Luxembourgian share is far too low in comparison, you must have managed to dance circles around the last Monegasque representative in that regard. I'm demanding re-negotiations there, so consider this fair warning."

Inexplicably, Guillaume looked amused rather than irritated at that bit of news. "Not making a serious effort, are you? You are arguing financial matters with me."

Andrea stopped dead in his tracks.

"And you're behaving in a very proper fashion, you're getting married, which I would consider an essential factor in positioning yourself as the next logical heir. You will even be a father soon, and if we ignore the fact that you screwed up the timing on that, it makes you even more grown-up and responsible. I hate to break it to you, Andrea, but you are becoming almost respectable."

He blinked, not sure what to make of it, especially coming from Guillaume. He didn't quite think that this was teasing, but then again, Guillaume had a rather unique sense of humour, whenever he remembered its existence.

Respectable. That really wasn't a word he'd have used to describe himself five years ago. It wasn't a word he'd have used to describe himself _one_ year ago. But somehow it had all sneaked up on him and Guillaume was right, he had all these responsibilities and ties and expectations settled upon himself and, even worse, he'd not even protested. 

"This really wasn't supposed to happen," he said.

Guillaume gave him an inquisitive look and waited for him to go on. 

"I'm not a working royal," Andrea said plaintively.

By now, Guillaume looked as if he were suppressing a smile. "You aren't," he agreed. "You're a working noble. Or rather, you are eventually going to become one, right now we'll have to describe you as an envoy for a princely house if we want to be accurate. Surely this cannot come as a surprise?"

Andrea didn't bother with a reply, he was still too busy sorting through that particular revelation. He'd thought he'd have time for this until, if ever, he ended up enthroned as Prince of Monaco. Nobody had mentioned it that he'd be a full-time royal... princely person before that came to pass.

"I'm not sure I like this," he muttered.

There wasn't much sympathy in Guillaume's brown eyes. "You're not getting a choice in the matter, so deal with it," he said.

"Easier said than done." It really was, and Andrea kept circling back to it even after they'd moved on into a small reception room called the Blue Salon, according to Guillaume, where some historical event or other had taken place. Andrea listened with half an ear - enough to repeat if he happened to be quizzed about what he'd learned today (which he wouldn't put past Guillaume) - but most of his attention was on other matters. 

They were eight centuries deep in Nassau family history when Guillaume took one sharp look at him, frowned and shook his head. "Oh please, I cannot have shocked you that much."

Andrea scowled at him. "Don't flatter yourself."

"You," Guillaume told him flatly, "are not impressing anyone." Another scrutinising once-over, followed by rolled eyes and a commanding gesture towards the door. "Come on."

"Where?" Andrea wanted to know.

"My office. Unless you want more Nassau family history?"

Fortunately for the sake of inter-dynastic relations, Andrea managed to suppress his shudder and instead followed Guillaume, absently wondering whether he'd end up regretting this.

Five minutes later he was on a chair in the Hereditary Grand Ducal office and had a generously poured snifter of vodka shoved at himself. 

"You're not having any?" he asked when Guillaume made to cap the bottle again. 

Guillaume cast him a disapproving look. "It's only afternoon," he said.

"But it's all right for me to have a drink?" Andrea frowned at the glass in what he hoped was credible doubt. "You didn't poison it, did you? I remember stories about at least two of your ancestors."

It was reassuring to know that he hadn't lost his touch where exasperating Guillaume was concerned. 

"Nice," he murmured once Guillaume had poured a second glass for himself and they'd both had a first taste. "How did you manage to get hold of the good stuff?"

Guillaume leaned back in his chair, absently glancing at the piles of papers on his desk with barely veiled longing. "The Russian tsesarevich and I are acquainted. I occasionally send him his favourite Luxembourgian wines, he sends me proper vodka."

"And your pet archduke doesn't mind?"

This earned him a puzzled frown. "Why would he? Georgiy and I are just friends."

"Who'd have thought you had it in you," Andrea murmured into his glass and treated himself to another mouthful. "Is he the guy with whom you were at that party with the Russian spy?"

Guillaume's expression instantly darkened.

"Oh come on, you've got to admit that it makes for a great story. The Russians have never set a KGB agent on me! Your very own spy. And a sexy red-head, too."

"What would I do with a Russian spy?" Guillaume asked, and didn't sound like he really wanted to know the answer. 

Andrea tsked. "Not a question James Bond ever had to ask. Ah well, be glad they failed in their research and sent a woman to try and seduce you, and not a guy?"

"I would not," Guillaume snapped, "have let myself be seduced by a KGB agent. I didn't even speak to the woman, and the Russian ambassador apologised immediately and vowed that I was never a target."

"Of course not," Andrea agreed cheerfully. "Not your sort of erotic fantasy, is it?"

Their Hereditary Grand Duke almost perished when a mouthful of vodka went down the wrong way. 

They spent the rest of the afternoon in what amounted to an almost companionable atmosphere by their standards: minimal bristling and irritated looks from Guillaume, only as much teasing as was strictly necessary from Andrea, the sort of equilibrium they usually slipped into whenever they spent a few days together in an official summit or conference setting. 

Amedeo came to collect them a few hours later, wrinkling his nose when he bent down to his husband for a kiss. "I should have remembered that Andrea is a bad influence on you," he groused. "Next time, keep in mind that you can get rid of the evidence, but I'll still taste the nicotine."

Guillaume did his best to look innocent, but wasn't very successful at it. The tragedy of never actually doing anything that required such skills, Andrea figured. 

"Guillaume was just being polite," he drawled, toying with the snifter till in his hand, though regrettably empty. It wasn't every day that he got to try vodka straight from the imperial Romanov stash. "I'm not going to smoke at home anymore, and it would have been terrible of me to do it in front of him without offering a cigarette to him, too. And even more terrible of him to refuse."

Amedeo looked at him, then at Guillaume, his lips twitching with the effort of suppressing a smile. "I assume that's the explanation for the vodka as well?"

Guillaume shrugged. "That was so he wouldn't have a nervous breakdown in the Yellow Room," he said. "You know how that upsets the visitors. So how much havoc have you and Marie wreaked upon my schedule?"

It was Amedeo's turn to look innocent. He did it a lot better than his husband. "Who says we did anything to your schedule? We merely had a friendly chat over coffee." Guillaume treated him to a flat look and he smirked, leaning in for another swift kiss. "Nothing too bad. You're giving me a handful of your daytime appointments, Félix is going to take the two days with the Pathfinders so you won't be running around in the mud, and Sébastien and I will do the rugby stuff because we'll actually know what we're talking about."

"But-"

"And you get me as an escort for your evening events whenever I don't have anything scheduled myself," Amedeo went on, not giving him a chance to protest. "Plus, don't you dare put anything into your calendar in the week of Andrea's wedding, Carl and Wills have made plans." He glanced at Andrea. "We're assuming you'll have other matters on your mind at the time. Actually, you'd better have other matters on your mind."

One month until the wedding. Andrea could have used a bit more vodka at the thought, just to blur his nerves. "I am sure Tatiana and I will find ways to keep ourselves occupied."

Amedeo grinned. "Wonderful," he said. "Or we'll have to stage an intervention. Remember, all the consorts are going to keep an eye on your woman from now on, so don't even think about misbehaving."

"As long as I'll only have to deal with you and Carl at the wedding..."

Two pairs of eyes narrowed as his friends studied him. 

"Merely a princely wedding, remember?" Andrea said, trying not to sound as disheartened as he felt about it. "Or not even princely, for that matter. There's no base for royal attendance. I'm grateful you guys are coming, and we invited the others, of course, but we knew it was a long shot after the disaster that was Uncle Albert's wedding day."

It wasn't personal, he knew. Many of the current heir generation were his acquaintances by now, and some even counted as friends, but this wasn't a private matter. This wasn't about Mette-Marit and Victoria coming to the wedding of Tatiana and Andrea as their friends, this was about the Crown Princesses of Norway and Sweden attending an event of a noble house far below theirs as far as rank was concerned. It was too much of a political statement, and with Monaco, you could never be sure whether there wouldn't be massive embarrassment to all in attendance. Princess - _Crown Princess_ Mary certainly could attest to that after finding out all about Albert's wandering eyes (and hands) during his wedding. The pictures were still being bandied about in the press on occasion.

Guillaume and Amedeo exchanged a quick look. "Who's coming?" Amedeo asked, perching on the arm rest of Guillaume's chair, his hand on his husband's shoulder. 

"You two, Carl, Wills, Theodora, Philippos," he hesitated for a moment, but there wasn't even a flicker of reaction from them at that name, "a few of the minor Bourbons, and the Aosta side of the Savoys." Which wasn't too bad at first glance until you noticed that, Guillaume aside, nobody was anywhere near a throne or likely to succeed within the next thirty years. 

Amedeo shrugged. "But you've invited the rest? Have they officially declined yet?"

"Only a handful." Which was worse, in a way, since the official staff deemed it not even necessary to react. "It had to be expected, there isn't much we can do about it. At least we won't be dealing with Mary."

"I doubt she'll come anywhere near your uncle again," Amedeo murmured. Another look passed between him and Guillaume, unreadable to Andrea. "Ah well, don't give up hope yet. Are you two done, or were you planning to stay here with the vodka for the rest of the evening?"

Andrea protectively cradled his empty glass against his chest. "I don't know. It's good vodka. What's your counter-offer?"

Amedeo gave him a teasing wink. "You'll just have to find out."

***

They both accompanied him to the airport the next evening, once Tatiana had indicated that he would be welcome again at home. 

"Here," Guillaume said and passed him a slim envelope. "Fair warning, as you said yesterday."

Andrea frowned at it sceptically. "You didn't stay up all night and draw up new budgets, did you?"

Guillaume merely scowled at him and didn't deign to dignify this with a reply. Not that Andrea really needed one - given how thoroughly satisfied with the world Amedeo had looked that morning, there was little doubt what those two had been up to.

Andrea only got around to look at the envelope once he was on the plane, and quickly glanced over the single sheet of paper. Then looked again, more carefully. 

' _We thought you'd prefer some advance warning_ ,' it said in Guillaume's meticulous handwriting, ' _that you will need to accommodate the following guests at your wedding. Their RSVPs should arrive within the coming days. Expect a similar note from William and Carl Philip as well._ '

It was followed by a tidy list of perhaps thirty royal names, from the Duke and Duchess of Brabant and the Prince and Princess of Orange to the entire younger generation of Luxembourgian royals and a frightening number of archduchesses and archdukes. 

' _Consider it an early wedding present from us _,' the note continued in a scribble Andrea guessed to be Amedeo's, ' _and don't panic, they've all promised to be nice. Congratulations again, on all accounts, and we'll see you at your wedding.___ '

***  
 _May 2017_  
***

As royal weddings went, this one didn't quite qualify, but everybody pretended not to notice. And even if neither the bride nor the groom had any actual rights to call themselves as much as noble by blood, the guests more than made up for it.

It was a good thing that Andrea spent the day in complete and utter awe at the fact that he was marrying Tatiana, or he'd have worried more about all the people attending his wedding. As it was, he stood at the altar of Monaco's Cathédrale Notre-Dame-Immaculée with Pierre, his eyes focused on the woman he loved as she slowly made her way down the aisle, and had eyes only for her and not for the assembled royals.

Finding out that he'd have an actual reigning monarch and his queen consort attend had come as a shock, even if they were Carl's parents. It still was far more than Andrea had dared to hope for even in his wildest dreams, and it had sent Albert into a sulk for days. He was still growling over Andrea's wedding outshining his own, and only the media attention kept him from saying something outright. There had been only a token few royal attendants at the wedding of the Prince of Monaco, mainly those who hadn't been fast enough to find other engagements for that day, and none had made an effort to look pleased to be there. Since the bride hadn't looked happy to be there either, it had fit the overall tone.

This time it was different, however. The heirs who'd arrived yesterday had already spent some time wandering around the principality, smiling and waving whenever paparazzi caught hold of them, and some had even spoken to the reporters and mentioned how pleased they were for Tatiana and Andrea. Quite a change from Albert's wedding, which still had persistent rumours clinging to it about Princess Astrid of Belgium, the Earl of Wessex and Andrea's mother starting a betting pool regarding its duration right after the religious ceremony. 

He couldn't remember much of the day; it all passed in a blur of absolute excitement and and exhilaration. The vows, the blessing, the slow walk from the cathedral to the Prince's Palace, the streets lined with spectators who, this time, hadn't needed to be rewarded for coming. It was an clear demonstration of the expectations of the Monegasque citizens where the continuation of the principality was concerned, and Andrea overheard more than one greeting towards Tatiana and himself as the next reigning couple. 

"Overeager, aren't they?" she remarked when yet another man had shouted congratulations to the next Prince and Princess. "Do they know something you don't, yet?"

Andrea could only duck his head a little sheepishly, his hand tightly holding on to hers. "We could still get out of it," he murmured.

Tatiana shot him an indulgent smile. "Miracles do happen," she answered. "But you'd be good at it, you know that." Said because she meant it, not because she needed to encourage him to become Prince so she'd be the Princess.

"Perhaps, but life would be much easier without it." This wasn't the moment for such thoughts, however; one look at Tatiana and he had other things on his mind again. 

The formal part of the reception and dinner went over well, thanks to his mother ruling over the proceedings with an iron fist. Invasions of neighbouring countries had been planned in less detail than this wedding, and it paid off when, after an hour without Grimaldi-style calamities, the guests started to relax and actually enjoy themselves. 

"You should have gotten married much sooner," Madeleine told them as she carefully settled into the free chair by Tatiana's side. Dinner and the initial dancing had gone over without a hitch - never a guarantee when you had Savoys from both branches of the dynasty in attendance - and now the guests had been given the run of the palace to mingle in a more relaxed atmosphere. "This is much more relaxed than the last royal wedding we had."

"Perhaps because it's not a royal wedding?" Tatiana suggested. 

Madeleine waved off. "Semantics. You're a royal in all but name, get used to it."

Tatiana glanced at her. "I'm trying not to, just yet," she said, her hand tightening on Andrea's. "There is no point in it right now."

Madeleine gave a very eloquent shrug. "Tell that to the people out there, I think they're busy toasting to the new era of Monaco. I'm sure you cannot blame them for that, at the very least you're much more fun than them."

Tatiana chuckled. "Just wait what they'll say about the collective hangover tomorrow."

That was one of Andrea's main concerns as well, had been ever since Pierre had announced his wedding gift: free drinks for all Monegasques, all part of his campaign to get Andrea firmly positioned as the next Prince. He'd called it a sound business investment when Andrea had attempted to reason that getting an entire country well and truly plastered might be an exaggeration.

"It's a great party, they'll hardly blame you," Madde said, very reasonably. "A pity that you can't take part yourself. Was that planned?"

Tatiana arched an eyebrow at Madeleine's equally pregnant - though, as far as Andrea was concerned, not nearly as fascinating - belly. "As much as yours, I expect."

"Swedish winters, what can you do? What's your excuse?"

Tatiana patted Andrea's hand. "Spur of the moment."

Madeleine snickered and leered at Andrea. "Well, can't say I blame you. So what are you having?"

The eternal question, as it was turning out, and Andrea listened as Tatiana explained about ultrasounds - they had quite a collection of pictures of their child's rear end by now - and conflicting old wives' tales. 

"We'll just stick to neutral colours for now and see whether we'll find out before August," she finally said.

Madeleine cocked her head. "You know, if the kids are going to be the same age almost to the day, we might as well arrange the wedding now."

Andrea blinked. Tatiana, however, leaned back in her chair and grinned. "Good idea, as long as you don't mind the fifty percent risk of a same-sex marriage."

"As if that's going to be anyone's concern in a Bernadotte-Grimaldi relationship," Madeleine said dismissively. "Do you think we should have the wedding here or in Stockholm?"

Andrea cast Tatiana a desperate glance. She simply smiled at him, gestured for him to lean closer so she could kiss him, then poked his shoulder. "Go find the boys," she instructed him. "Make them take you outside for some fresh air."

"But-" 

"I'll be fine, Madeleine and I will have no trouble finding someone to do our bidding," she assured him. "And you do look like you could use a break."

Andrea self-consciously ran a hand through his hair and tried to look less unbalanced than he felt, never mind that he'd not hesitate to call this the best day of his life. It was just that his mind still had some trouble catching up with events. "You don't want to get rid of me, do you?"

In response, Tatiana snatched the lapels of his coat and drew him close for a kiss that started innocently but soon turned into something far more intense, tongue and teeth and quiet sounds of pleasure, until a wolf whistle from Madeleine interfered with what was turning into a very interesting mood.

"Not to interrupt," she said, laughter plain in her voice, "but if you're going to be naughty, you may want to find a room. You'll confuse your guests. Those who aren't used to Monaco, at least."

Tatiana grinned back. "Let them be jealous," she said smugly. "He's all mine now."

And he certainly wasn't going to argue with that.

***

"We did it," he mused late that night when he and Tatiana had finally retired to their palace apartment. "We actually did it."

Tatiana cocked her head and reached to cup his face in her hand. "Of course we did it. Don't sound so surprised about that." Leaning in, she quickly kissed him before stepping back and turning around. "Help me with the dress, please?"

Andrea blinked, momentarily confused. "It looks fine."

"That's nice of you to say, but I'm still not sleeping in it and there's no way I can get to those buttons and hooks." Glancing over her shoulder, she threw him a grin. "Get to work, will you? I'm pretty certain you promised today that you'll assist. Before witnesses."

"I'm not sure I remember that part of the vows," Andrea quipped, but dutifully stepped up behind her and began to look for whatever contraptions were keeping that dress in place. Tiny buttons, he discovered after a second, fiendishly difficult to undo. 

Tatiana held herself carefully still. "It may have been more implicit than explicit," she allowed. "Perhaps we should have included it."

"I promise to help you with your formal gowns, and in turn you'll pour me a cup of coffee whenever you get one for yourself?" Andrea suggested. The first few buttons were dealt with, but this one refused to cooperate. Blasted little things. 

"Sounds like a fair deal, don't you think?" 

The button finally came undone. "Very much so," he agreed, bowing to brush a fleeting kiss against the newly bared skin at the top of her spine, and felt her shift under the sudden attention. "And as long as that's all you want to change..."

"As if there's anything else. I've got official documents which agree that you're mine now, what more do I need?" Turning around, she wound her arms about his neck to draw him close, the dress forgotten for now. "I love you," she whispered in his hear. "We'll figure out the rest."

***  
 _June 2017_  
***

Presiding over football matches was always fun when the home team was playing, never mind that AS Monaco wasn't having the best of seasons. But it was the atmosphere that counted, the way the Monegasques supported their team, and Andrea was content to be part of that crowd. Pierre, too, had found the time to attend, and together they sat in the Prince's box, red-white scarves around their necks and their eyes firmly on the field.

"What do you think Mama and Tatiana are up to?" Pierre asked, leaning forward as he observed an attack attempt on the opponents' goal.

Andrea waited, then exhaled when it became obvious that the attack wasn't going to be successful. "I don't know. They only talked about breathing techniques at first, but when Mama told Tatiana she's allowed to break bones during labour if she feels like doing so, it seemed safer to get out."

"Your bones?" Pierre asked, sounding intrigued.

"I suspect so, she's too polite to do that to people she doesn't know. And I'm being reminded frequently and with great vigour that I'm the one who got her into this mess."

Adjusting his scarf, Pierre laughed at that. "Hard to deny, though, isn't it?"

Andrea cast him a sideways look and decided that it was high time they found a more permanent girlfriend for him to keep him distracted. The single-minded determination and devotion Pierre showed towards the women in the family was reassuring most of the time, but there were moments when it was a little too much. "We're not discussing my sex life," he said firmly. 

"As though I want to know that about my brother. Besides- " Pierre was interrupted by a few tense seconds of a chaotic mess in front of the away team's goal. "Besides, there's no need to discuss it anyway. If Tatiana says it's your fault, then it is, it's as simple as that."

Admittedly, Pierre had a point there. Andrea certainly wasn't going to argue with anything Tatiana said these days, partly out of fear of upsetting her, partly because he was still somewhat stunned by it all and simply not in the mood to disagree with her. Under different circumstances the occasional argument was fun, but right now it was the last thing on Andrea's mind. 

There was the sound of doors opening behind them as a group of people came out into the box. Andrea exchanged looks of dismayed annoyance with Pierre once he recognised Albert's voice, along with those of a handful of his flunkies. So much for watching in peace and enjoying the game, he thought with a sinking feeling. 

The newcomers kept on talking about new construction projects for the next ten minutes, and if Pierre's sour expression was any indication, then this wasn't something to look forward to. Andrea still wasn't permitted to sit in on these meetings - Albert claimed that they didn't concern any of his official duties and therefore didn't matter - but Pierre, in his capacity as CEO of Monaco's largest construction companies, had greater insights here. And if he looked displeased, then Andrea figured he ought to be cautious as well. 

After a while Albert appeared to remember that he had listeners who weren't supposed to know the finer points of it all, and the discussion came to a hurried end. 

"What's the score?" he asked, dropping down into the seat next to Andrea's with a heartfelt groan.

Andrea glanced at the score board, which clearly displayed the current status quo between the teams. "You haven't missed much," he said. A few brilliant minutes of game play, but he knew that his uncle didn't care about those. Albert needed goals so he could be pictured cheering on his team. 

"Obviously," his uncle agreed easily and loosened his own team scarf, looking far too new to be anything but freshly bought compared to the well-worn ones of Andrea and Pierre. "It's good to see you, I meant to speak to you, my boy."

"What about?" Andrea asked cautiously. By his side, Pierre was still pretending to watch the game but he knew that his brother was listening as well, and possibly plotting escape routes. 

Albert folded his arms over his chest and leaned back. "You haven't yet asked me to become godfather, so I'll make it simple for you and offer."

Andrea froze. To his left, Pierre made a noise somewhere between choking and laughing.

"Uncle Albert, that's very kind of you, but..." He hesitated, desperately scrambling for a way to get out of this. He and Tatiana had discussed this question, of course, and while they hadn't settled on a final choice for godparents yet, one decision had been clear from the start - Albert wasn't going to make the cut. "We thought we'd try to get godparents from the other royal houses. In fact," another moment of hesitation, then he went on with the lie, praying that he wouldn't get caught until it was too late, "we've already received positive responses."

It clearly was the prospect of press attention at royal attendance during the christening that had Albert look interested. "Who have you asked?"

"Ah..." They were going to ask Carl, but he wasn't nearly high profile enough for Albert, so Andrea seized the next name that came to mind. "Victoria, we thought that since she'll be Queen of Sweden she would make a good choice."

"Excellent," Albert praised him, a constellation which always made Andrea wonder whether he'd made a mistake somewhere. It never seemed safe to have Albert's agreement on anything. 

"We thought so, too," he drawled and did his best to ignore the amused smirk on Pierre's face. 

Albert nodded, then turned to say something Andrea didn't quite catch to one of the flunkies behind him. It was a new one, looking even shiftier than the last set in his white suit and with slicked-back hair and a far too expensive watch on his wrist. A minute later, a cell phone was handed to Albert, who didn't even dial a number but simply held it up to his ear. 

"I'll just thank Victoria," he said with a satisfied smile. "It's good to show her that I appreciate the gesture."

Andrea would have rolled his eyes at that if he hadn't been so busy hiding the signs of his inward panic at getting caught in his lie. 

After a few precious seconds, his hope that Victoria wouldn't answer was cruelly dashed.

"Victoria, my dear, this is Albert," his uncle said, and under other circumstances Andrea would have felt smug over the following clarification, "of Monaco, of course... No, my aides called your assistants."

Andrea had the suspicion that some assistants in Sweden were about to confronted with a very angry Crown Princess over unauthorised revelation of her phone number.

"I am sure you have important things to do, so I won't keep you for long... Exactly, my dear, actually we should do an event together again. My aides will get in touch with yours... The reason for my call? Oh, I just wanted to tell you that it is good to hear that you're getting the honour of becoming godparent to Andrea's child... No, I permitted him to call first, but I wanted to thank you in person."

The audience was getting loud around them over something going on on the pitch, but Andrea didn't dare to look away from his uncle as he waited for the hammer to fall.

"Yes, we have made the selection very carefully... You will be kept informed about the date of the baptism as soon as that is confirmed. But we'll have to wait for the girl to whelp first, she's still not saying what it's going to be... Busy? Victoria, you need to be more careful about your schedule, you should not be busy at this time of the day. But if you must, then of course I won't keep you."

Terminating the call, Albert held up the phone for his flunkies to take it again, then turned to Andrea. "She still sounds a bit surprised," he said. "But of course she'd have to be, you could have asked more important people."

Andrea had a hard time to fight down both relief at Victoria apparently playing along, and complete and utter annoyance with Albert being all self-satisfied and idiotic about his imagined importance.

"We thought we'd start with her," he said and managed to sound almost relaxed. "Then work our way up."

Albert nodded and folded his hands over his stomach. "Very good, you have paid attention."

 _To what?_ , Andrea wanted to ask but suppressed the urge. "Always, Uncle Albert." Then he almost jumped with shock when his mobile vibrated in his back pocket.

Victoria's name and number were on the display. Andrea didn't dare to answer with Albert sitting right next to him.

An hour later, the football game was over (with a victory for the home team, though Andrea couldn't appreciate it fully for fear of what the Swedish Crown Princess would have to say about getting dragged into Grimaldi family maneuvering) and Andrea had a moment of peace and quiet. With a growing sense of dread to his stomach, he called Victoria.

"Tell me now if you've made me anything in addition to godmother," she said in lieu of greeting. "Am I set to adopt your brother? Annex Monaco and declare myself Princess?"

"No," Andrea said meekly.

"Good," Victoria told him, switching from growly to cheerful within a second. "So I get to be godmother?"

Andrea scrambled to follow the shift in moods. "If you don't mind?"

"Of course I don't mind, I just didn't think you'd ask me. I was convinced that Calle would be on top of your list."

Which was right, he and Tatiana had agreed that Carl was the most likely royal to say yes, and also the most deserving as their closest friend among that group. "He was, but..."

"But you can't ask him now because Albert thinks you already asked me?" Victoria finished for him. "Andrea..."

He sighed. "I know. Albert backed me into a corner there. Thank you for playing along, by the way. I always knew you'd make a convincing actress."

"Albert is far too easy to fool," Victoria chuckled. "Do you want to keep me, or shall I find an excuse so you can ask Calle instead?"

Andrea wavered. He wanted Carl there, but a sensible voice in his mind insisted that he'd do their child a huge political favour if the next Queen of Sweden acted as godmother. Royal connections might be informal in this day and age, but that didn't mean they were meaningless. Andrea was still suffering enough from the general disdain held for the Grimaldis despite the friendships between him and the future generation of crowned heads, he'd have to be foolish to let that sort of opportunity pass. 

"Will you do it?" he asked. "Be godmother, I mean. I know it is a lot to ask, but if it is possible for you..."

"Andrea," Victoria said firmly. 

"Yes?"

"Stop fretting. You and Tatiana are my friends, you're friends of my brother and you've supported him and Wills, of course I'll do you a favour. And Andrea?"

"Yes?"

"I have a suggestion for you. Carl would probably look odd if you pick him as well, so go ask Wills. They'll know that you mean both of them. Unless you need a Catholic to balance me out? In that case you'll probably have to ask Guillaume, but I don't think he'd say no either."

"If only because he'd be far too terrified of what Tatiana and Amedeo would do to him if he dared," Andrea said. "We've got Tatiana's brother and Charlotte, the Catholic side is taken care of. If you agree, and if Wills agrees to fill that last spot..." Then it would be much better than Andrea could ever have hoped.

***  
 _July 2017_  
***

Summer settled into the by now almost traditional routine of royal visits to Monaco, though this year, Andrea's time was a lot more limited than before. Albert vanished from the country for weeks at a time, leaving Andrea and the handful of actually working members of the government to run everything from representative duties to the day-to-day business of managing the madhouse that was Monaco. Much to his frustration, Andrea still wasn't allowed to make any decisions. Albert had him sit still and observe, and only assigned him tasks which were too boring or too work-intensive for the esteemed Princely Presence. 

"It's like the upper-class version of an internship," he complained to Guillaume one evening when he'd ended up with their Hereditary Grand Duke as his dinner companion at a trade conference in Prague. "Only he doesn't have me make photocopies and brew coffee, but do all the exhausting appointments with little press attention and all the long-winded and boring meetings."

The glance he received from Guillaume in response was far from sympathetic. "Welcome to the life of an heir," his friend said. "I believe the philosophy is to make us see the daily grit so we'll then be grateful for whatever perks we're permitted."

"But you get to do more," Andrea protested. "You get to do things that involve actual responsibility. All I get are opportunities to nod and smile and applaud when I really want to bang my head against the nearest wall because Uncle Albert is being an idiot."

Guillaume shrugged. "So go ahead and stage a coup."

Andrea blinked at him, not sure he had heard right. "I beg your pardon?"

Their Hereditary Grand Duke quirked an eyebrow but otherwise gave no sign to indicate whether he was being serious or not. "Either that, or you try to have a conversation with your uncle and reason with him."

Frowning, Andrea took a step backwards. "Next time, I'm going to sit with Amedeo. He scares me less than you do."

But on the whole, his friends proved to be highly helpful sources of advice during this time and Andrea did his best to show his appreciation. Or would have done, if they'd actually had the time to stop by on occasion. Wills and Carl had barely visited since the wedding, and while Andrea was still focused almost exclusively on Tatiana, he had time to notice that his friends were, while not actively ignoring him, at least not able to escape from their duties as often as before. 

He was just getting used to that when Tatiana passed him one of the newspapers one morning in July and tapped a short article. "Do you know anything about Wills and Carl moving out of Clarence House?"

Andrea blinked. "No, they never mentioned anything," he said as he quickly scanned the text. "Moved to York House, no official reasons given..." He looked at Tatiana. "Do you think everything is all right with them?"

Tatiana tilted her head and toyed with a strand of her dark hair. "Why wouldn't it be? They finally put some distance between themselves and Charles, I'd say it's high time they made that move."

"But they haven't come here together all summer, they haven't made any appearances together..." Andrea hadn't noticed at first, but a few weeks ago he'd begun to wonder and had checked the past months, and what he'd come up with wasn't something he liked at all. Carl was spending a lot of time in Sweden, Wills seemed busy with his military duties, and it was as if they were hardly in the same place anymore. "And now they've moved to York House."

"We're moving, too," Tatiana pointed out. "And we aren't having any trouble."

"Yes, but... that's the peanut, that's different." They weren't about to try and raise a sane child in Monaco, and since Andrea couldn't leave, they'd chosen to settle in Saint-Rémy for the time being to stay in the vicinity and yet get away from the craziness and the immediate reach of Albert. Hopefully the house would be done before the peanut was born; right now it looked like it would be a close finish. 

"Perhaps Carl is hatching something," Tatiana suggested with a chuckle. 

"Wills, rather," Andrea corrected absently. 

Tatiana shot him an amused look. "So that's how it works for them?"

Andrea blinked at her warily. "Possibly?" he hazarded. 

"Stop worrying about that." Tatiana leaned forward to reach for the sugar, then huffed with displeasure when her belly got in the way. Andrea moved without needing to really think about it and added her customary half spoonful to her tea, and got a scowl for his trouble. "And stop fussing."

"You're due in four weeks, I should be allowed to fuss," he countered, but ducked his head to make it plain that he wasn't looking for an argument. The mere reminder that they were less than a month away from a whole new terrifyingly overwhelming experience was enough to make him want harmony and nothing else. "So you don't think something is wrong with Carl and Wills?"

Tatiana shook her head and picked up her tea cup. "They're simply busy. And they finally figured out that Charles won't stop with his needling and that their best option is to get out of the line of fire. Something probably happened there to make them move so quickly, but I don't think it's something to do with them." She gave him one of those far too understanding looks. "One of them would have told you if that were the case, so stop seeing things."

He wanted to believe her, but he couldn't quite shake the uncertainty. Carl and Wills had seemed fine when he'd last seen them, over a month ago now. But that had only been a brief two-day visit, and Carl had spent most of the time with Tatiana while Wills had accompanied Andrea on a semi-official appointment. Thinking back to it, Andrea couldn't remember them spending all that much time in each other's company. 

"I just want to know that everything is fine," he murmured, moving forward a few steps to drop a kiss on Tatiana's head. "I hope you're right about them."

***

A week later, kicked to the curb for a few days by Tatiana once again because his attention was getting too much for her, Andrea received the confirmation that she could be relied upon in her interpretation of male antics. 

"Talking to Wills wasn't enough?" Carl asked him once they were out of sight and earshot from incidental - and not-quite-incidental - observers. They'd taken out the boat of Carl's parents for a brief cruise and were now gently swaying on the waves of the Baltic Sea just off the coast of Öland, catching a bit of sun on the boat's rear platform. 

Andrea glanced at him over the rim of his shades. "Oh, it was," he drawled. "But I thought I'd check in with you as well."

Carl quirked an eyebrow. "Tatiana doesn't allow you back yet?"

"She wants another day, and since Wills is busy being all heroic and rescuing people, I thought I'd come and delight you with my presence." It had also been a chance to see Carl being proper royalty on his own for once when Andrea had come along to observe his friend's public appearance at a forestry award ceremony this morning. 

Laughing, Carl reached out to tousle his hair. "Whenever you want. It's a pity you're flying back tonight already, you could have stayed for Victoria's birthday tomorrow. The party's going to be great this year."

Andrea leaned back on his towel, propped up on his elbows. "Is Wills coming?" he asked.

Carl's expression turned somewhat less cheerful. "He can't, he'll only go off duty by Saturday. And even if he could get a day off, it would be too much of a hassle to fly back and forth for a few hours."

"You two need to coordinate better," Andrea admonished him. "It's downright frustrating to watch you stuck in different countries and not seeing each other. I bet you're not even making any use of my little packages."

The look of pure frustration in Carl's eyes spoke volumes already. "We've managed four consecutive days without official duties next week," he said. "I've got a race weekend, Wills is coming over and we'll just have to catch up then."

Andrea smirked at him. "I guess that means you don't want me to call you?"

"Only if you finally find out if you're going to get a boy peanut or a girl peanut.. No, actually not even then."

"I'll text you and you can just reply once you're ready to get out of bed again." Andrea flopped down on the towel, found the deck too hard for his liking and shifted until he had his head comfortably pillowed on Carl's bare stomach. 

His friend frowned down at him, but made no move to dislodge him. "You know, if anyone manages to take a picture of us like this..."

"As though I'd start anything with you right now," Andrea waved off. "I'm far too busy with Guillaume these days, as all the tabloids can tell you."

He felt Carl's chuckle. "Of course, how could I possibly forget about that? How did they ever get that idea, anyway?"

"You'll have to ask them about it. As if I'd ever start anything with him, what with me having Tatiana and him having Amedeo. Besides, he and I would drive each other insane before the week is through, so I'll just leave him to our dear pet archduke. There's no sanity left to risk there anymore."

Carl poked his shoulder. "Be nice."

Andrea blinked up at him. "How nice do you want me to be?" he asked, fluttering his eyelashes.

He received a stern look in response. "Do I need to remind you that I am happily married?" Carl asked him with only a hint of laughter to his voice. 

"No, I know. I was snuggling with your husband yesterday." Andrea reached for his notepad and pen again and flipped it over to a fresh page. "I'll have to tell Tatiana that you two are cruelly rejecting my advances."

"Of course, go and complain to your wife that we won't take you up on your flirting," Carl teased. "Once it's safe for you to return."

Andrea shrugged. "That depends on whether Pierre has been murmuring to her about how the blatant chauvinism of patriarchal interference causes trouble in the female mysteries of childbirth again," he said. "And you wish I were paraphrasing, but that's a straight quote from when he shoved me out the door on her behalf."

"Do me a favour," Carl said, "and keep him away from Madde. She's scary enough when she's pregnant without anyone putting ideas in her head."

"I'll do my best," Andrea promised and received a pat to the top of his head in reward. 

For a little while they settled into comfortable silence, Carl enjoying the sun while Andrea scribbled his letter to Tatiana. 

"Why are you writing to her, anyway?" Carl asked eventually. 

Andrea tilted his head to glance up at him. "Because she's forbidden me to call her unless it's a genuine emergency." And because he was far too used to telling her about his days by now to break that habit just because he wasn't supposed to call her - and wouldn't have done so anyway now that she'd started taking naps at odd hours during the day.

Carl met his gaze, eyebrows waggling. "It's a good thing she married you, or I'd say you're stalking the poor woman."

"You are not nearly romantic enough to understand this," Andrea declared with a dramatic swoop of his arm. "Tell me you've written him letters."

The question earned him a thoroughly amused look. "We've both got phones, that's a lot more efficient. "

Andrea considered that. "You may be right about that," he allowed. "You'd miss out on phone sex, too."

"We're not..." Carl started, then quickly trailed off. 

Andrea smirked at him. "You should give it a try."

Carl looked down at him, opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it. He just shook his head and settled down again in a comfortable sprawl, very considerately not shifting about so much that Andrea had to move. 

It was good to spend some time with his best friend again, but even here, comfortable out in the sun (which, up here in Sweden, was weak enough that he didn't have to worry about sunburn), Andrea missed Tatiana even after just two days. It wasn't even the concern that she might start things without him, or that something could go wrong with her while he was gone. That, too, gnawed at him, but he was willing to accept that it was her right to get him out of the way, that she wasn't foolish enough to take any risks, and that Pierre and his mother would keep an eye on her for him. 

Shipping him off to Wills and then Carl had been her way to show him that he was getting too tightly wound and needed to let off some steam, preferably in the company of people who knew how to handle him. Wills had been good in that regard already - one evening spent chatting, the second out clubbing with him and Harry, then Wills had arranged to have him shipped to Sweden for another day in the company of friends. And now Carl was giving him a chance to slow down and ground himself. Tatiana had known how it would all play out, and she knew Andrea well enough to realise when he needed external sources of balance.

"Do you mind?" he asked when he'd finished another paragraph.

Carl blinked at him from under his sunglasses. "Mind what?"

"That Wills and Vicky ended up as godparents and you didn't." It was a surprisingly intricate issue on so many levels; relatives who had expected to be asked, friends who'd been faintly hopeful and the whole issue of giving their child the best possible connections to make his or her life as a potential future ruler of Monaco easier. "We wanted to ask you, and I was about to, only then Uncle Albert got in the way and it all turned a bit chaotic."

Again Carl petted his hair, an affectionate gesture Andrea could have gotten used to if he hadn't been aware that he was skirting dangerous territory here. Such touches were Tatiana's prerogative, and Andrea didn't need to transfer his conditioned responses to them from her to Carl, not when their history together muddled the waters somewhat anyway. 

"You've asked Wills and Vicky, that makes me a godparent twice over. Just try to keep me from spoiling the peanut when you aren't looking."

"So it's all right for you?" Andrea asked earnestly. "I don't know if Wills has talked to you yet, but this wasn't as politically motivated as it looks."

"You mean you didn't snub me because I'm just going to be a prince consort and don't compare to the future King of England and the future Queen of Sweden?" Carl wanted to know.

Andrea gave a mock shrug. "Well, we did take that into consideration. Unless you go and usurp a throne somewhere, I don't think we can accommodate you."

Carl snorted. "As though I'm that much of an idiot, thanks. It's bad enough that Wills is going to have to step up one day and that I'll be dragged along for that. But to get back on topic, I know what made you and Tatiana pick those two and I think you made a good choice. And just try to keep me from coming to visit my godchild; if Wills gets to be godfather, then so do I."

If there hadn't been a risk of cameras around, Andrea would have kissed him. Instead, he settled for bumping his hand against Carl's. "You're my best friend," he said. "I don't want you to feel left out."

"I'm not feeling left out," Carl told him. "I would hardly be your friend if I did." A frown crossed his face. "And will you listen to us, all maudlin, that really isn't right." And before Andrea could voice a protest, let alone save himself, Carl grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed and pulled and a second later they both landed in the cold water with an almighty splash, and all sentimentality was forgotten in favour of revenge.

***  
 _August 2017_  
***

Three weeks later, Andrea's life as he knew it turned upside down.

It all blurred together after the first few hours. The sharp, unmistakable smell of hospital, the half-incomprehensible discussions of the doctors and nurses, the too-warm air. The exhaustion, blended with adrenaline to turn into wide-eyed tension. The sounds he'd never heard Tatiana make before, and which he never wanted to hear again.

The few times he risked to leave for just a minute, he saw his mother and Tatiana's outside, looking irrationally calm and collected. Pierre was there too, of course, always ready with coffee and a bite to eat and suggestions for ways to support Tatiana, which made Andrea wonder almost hysterically whether his brother had been the first man ever to participate in lamaze classes without a pregnant partner.

He had no idea how long it had been when everything seemed to turn hectic at a sudden; he stood perfectly still, afraid to cause the slightest distraction, Tatiana's hand gripping his own so tightly that he distantly thought she might really break a bone or two. Not that he'd have cared right now, her panting far too loud in his ears when he barely dared to breathe himself.

More tension and he'd never felt so out of place before when it all seemed to come together from one second to the next. A drawn-out groan from Tatiana, encouraging murmurs from the doctor. A thin wail that sent all his instincts snapping to attention, and then there was a baby and Andrea's whole world went soft.

***

"So what sort of peanut is it?" Pierre asked when Andrea ventured outside the delivery room again to spread the news that all had gone well. 

Andrea blinked. "I knew I'd forgotten something."

When he rushed back to ask, a highly amused nurse revealed the peanut to be a boy, all well and healthy and all bits accounted for. One more idea for Andrea to get used to, but it was a small, straightforward starting point for the whole matter of having a child now when there hadn't been one the day before. It was all still rather mind-blowing, and he couldn't quite manage to mirror Tatiana's peaceful serenity. 

"You're amazing," he told her, again holding on to her hand though his fingers had not yet stopped aching from her earlier death grip. 

Tatiana gave him a tired smile in response. "Just look at what we've made," she murmured. "Best baby ever."

"Without a doubt," he agreed, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I love you."

She stroked her thumb across the back of his hand, the touch slow and light. "Love you too."

***  
 _October 2017_  
***

The best baby ever was baptised Stefano Rainier Pierre Guillaume Casiraghi two months later (Guillaume standing for the French variation of William, not their Hereditary Grand Duke, though Andrea found it perfect fodder for teasing). 

In stark contrast to their wedding, they kept the ceremony deliberately small this time to make it clear from the beginning that the media wouldn't be given free reign where their child was concerned. There had been official photos a few days after Stefano had been born, and they'd release a few pictures and videos this time as well, but it was all tightly controlled by them to make sure nobody would get any ideas. Fortunately, most of the paps were happy enough to agree to the terms after years of being brow-beaten by Andrea's mother until they accepted the idea of a deal. 

Albert wasn't happy about it, of course, but Andrea couldn't have cared less. This wasn't about pleasing his uncle, this was about setting the foundations for how the life of his family would run for the next years, decades even. He was hardly going to risk that just to pander to Albert's irrational vanities, no matter how much his uncle might complain about press expectations and wasted opportunities to show off the exalted royal guests and godparents. 

It was Tatiana who put an end to that discussion; one particularly nasty snarl at Albert after a week where they'd only managed to snatch sleep in thirty-minute increments and she sent him scrambling for safety. 

"That should have done it," she said, arms crossed over her chest. "Let him get his own child, then he can have a baptism with clowns and elephants and whatever else he wants."

Not that it was going to happen without divine intervention, given that Andrea's aunt-by-marriage had barely spent a week in Monaco so far this year. The Monegasques clearly shared that impression; whenever Andrea handled an official appointment within the principality, he was treated more and more as if people expected him to do his duty to the country and actually deal with the problems. He did his best to listen and then, in turn, his best to get results, but he still had the uneasy feeling that he wasn't living up to expectations. It wasn't even that he didn't think he could do it, but that he wasn't in a position to have the necessary influence.

Right now that was the last thing on his mind, however. Today was for presenting Stefano to friends and family and for gathering with people they actually liked, which was turning out a lot harder than expected. Andrea hadn't thought it possible for such a small being to produce so much noise in such frequent intervals. With life being taken over by feeding and nappy changes, seeing other people was far down on their list of priorities these days.

True to his bloodline's sense of drama, Stefano remained angelically quiet throughout the church ceremony, right up to the point when the Archbishop of Monaco poured water over his head. At that point he let out an indignant wail loud enough that it echoed off the cathedral's high walls, shocked one of the acolytes into dropping the frankincense censer he was holding onto the marble floor with a loud clatter, and made Victoria almost choke with suppressed laughter until Wills came to her rescue. 

"There's really no doubt about your paternity," Carl murmured at Andrea a little later, when they'd all sat down again for the last part of the ceremony. "A tiny Grimaldi to the core."

"We do have a reputation to maintain," Andrea whispered back, then did his best to focus on the final words of the Archbishop without drifting off to sleep. He had no idea how other parents had managed to survive this, or how Stefano could have just as little uninterrupted rest as his parents and still be so amazingly awake at all times. 

Once the baptism was through, they spent the rest of the day in the palace gardens, just the closest circle of friends and family. His head pillowed in Tatiana's lap, Andrea faded off into desperately needed sleep, only to wake up an hour later snuggled up to Wills and with no idea how he'd gotten there. Deciding not to question this turn of events, Andrea sighed contentedly and practically began to purr when his friend started to pet him. Cracking an eye open, he saw Tatiana just a few steps away from him, quietly talking to Victoria, who currently had the honours of holding Stefano.

"One of these days, you and I are going to talk about appropriate behaviour," Wills told him. "And about you using other people as cushions."

Andrea blinked up at him, yawned, then turned his head to bury his face against his friend's belly. "Not right now," he mumbled. "Later."

***

Most ruling houses had a council of sorts to debate matters of dynastic importance, sort out family squabbles without dragging it out into the open (unless you were a Savoy, in which case it was pretty much expected of you) and decide upon the directions to take with family fortunes and family connections. Even those who'd lost their thrones by now were still keeping up with that tradition, and Andrea knew that all his royal friends were involved with those family councils already.

The Grimaldis had one too, of course, but rarely bothered with it and Albert had never called for a council session during his entire reign. So when he did so now, there was a good deal of controversy as to who was actually supposed to be there.

"You'll have to go," Charlotte told Andrea over the phone. "You're second in line behind Mama, you're not getting out of it."

"Well, you're fourth, I don't see how..."

"Fifth," Charlotte corrected him cheerfully. "Mama, then you, the peanut, Pierre and then it's me. I figure that's far enough removed that I don't have to bother with that part of the family insanity. I'll declare a republic before I ever sit on that throne."

That a republic might be a good idea was a thought Andrea entertained for the first two hours of the council, which were spent waiting for Albert in an increasingly irriated atmosphere. At least they'd figured out who'd be duty-bound to attend. Charlotte, sneaky as she was, had found an important equestrian tournament to participate in, but the rest had been drafted and was now assembled in the Palais Princier's Chinese Salon, in which at least two family councils had ended on a lethal note for a participant. A family tradition they wouldn't repeat, he hoped.

He wished Tatiana could have come along, but the rules were specific: only those in the line of succession were allowed to attend, which meant that Andrea was sitting at one end of the table with his mother, Pierre and Alexandra, and Aunt Stephanie was at the other end with Louis and Pauline; Camille hadn't been invited due to her illegitimacy. A risky line for Albert to draw for so many reasons, but apparently he'd put his foot down and Stephanie hadn't argued. Then again, she also didn't look like she was particularly eager to be a part of this herself.

"Where is he?" Andrea's mother asked after another glance at the ornate clock on the far wall. 

Stephanie shrugged. "You know Albert. He'll come. Eventually."

"If he hasn't forgotten about it all," Pierre murmured, too low for their cousins and aunt to overhear, then said in a louder voice, "Surely he has important things to do."

Andrea rolled his eyes and exchanged glances with Alexandra, who looked equally dubious. He could have stayed home with Tatiana and Stefano rather than sit around and waste his time here just to cater to Albert's whims. Instead he was stuck in the Palace for the afternoon and at night there was a formal dinner scheduled with a handful of trade envoys, so he wouldn't even be back home before tomorrow.

Leaning back in her chair, Alexandra settled into the sort of slouch only teenagers managed to achieve. "Can I come visit you in Saint-Rémy?" she asked. 

"Whenever you want," he promised. The move away from Monaco was turning out to be one of their wiser choices; it got them out of immediate reach of the Palace, but it was still close enough to the principality not to raise any questions. "Especially if you'll take over babysitting duties."

Alexandra grinned. "You said you'd do it all yourselves."

"That was before we discovered that it's impossible to get more than four hours of sleep with a baby in the house," Andrea returned. "If you watch Stefano for us, you're welcome anytime."

Half an hour later, Albert finally graced them with his presence, his wife by his side in yet another of her dead black dresses. A clear violation of the entire agreement; she was the only one present who didn't have a claim upon the throne by blood.

Andrea didn't have to look at his mother to know that her hackles were rising. At his other side, Pierre still seemed deceptively relaxed, but there was the barest hint of a frown on his face. 

"You should have brought Tatiana after all," Alexandra murmured in his ear, and he nodded in agreement. 

"Welcome, all of you," Albert said with a beatific smile and took his seat at the centre of the table. His wife sat down as well, the motion proof that over-strained fabrics and corsets could be made to bend only so far without producing audible creaks. "I don't have much time to spare, so let's make this quick. There's an alteration to the line of succession I want to make."

Around Andrea, people snapped to attention. Even Aunt Stephanie looked suspicious at that. 

Oblivious as ever to tension around him, Albert continued. "I've thought long and hard about this, and I'm sure you'll all agree that it's the wisest choice."

Andrea heard Alexandra snicker.

"What choice, Albert?" Andrea's mother wanted to know, her voice pitched in what had to be a deliberate effort to sound bored. "Get on with it, we don't have all day."

Albert cast his sister an irritated look, then resumed that expression he wore whenever he handed out gifts to people. "I have decided to make Andrea's little boy my heir."

Andrea stared at him. After a few seconds, he remembered to blink. "What? Stefano? Why? He's three months old, why on Earth would you do that?"

Albert gave him a kind smile. "Ah, you see, it is all part of an ingenious plan."

"Oh, great," Pierre muttered, only for his siblings to hear. "Run for your lives."

"I have decided," their uncle continued, unaware of the collective irritation among his listeners, "that what we need is a positive and youthful image. And what better way to get that than a little child? You've all seen the attention the other royal houses are getting whenever they present a baby, so we must do the same."

Andrea shook his head, unable to believe he really was hearing this. "Stefano isn't part of this."

"Of course he is, he is a Grimaldi." 

"He isn't," Andrea protested. "He's a Casiraghi. And he's not even a year old, I won't permit anyone to force him into this." 

His uncle gave him an indulgent smile. "My dear boy, you need to understand that being born to this family brings a lot of privileges, but also obligations. Your little one is an important part of Monaco's future."

"The little one _is_ Monaco's future," Andrea's mother said sharply, and it was highly satisfying to see Albert flinch at her tone. Sibling rivalries obviously didn't stop at politics. "So don't risk him, he needs to have a normal upbringing or he'll never be able to handle it all. Andrea and Tatiana are being smart about it, they've taken him out of Monaco. Stefano needs to grow up somewhere outside this goldfish bowl if we don't want him to turn into a jet set brat."

Andrea, Pierre and Alexandra exchanged quick looks, all of them doing the same mental evaluation of themselves. 

"Caroline's got a point," Aunt Stephanie agreed, an unexpected voice of support since she and Andrea's mother usually didn't see eye to eye on most things. But she'd worked hard to give her own children a private life away from official intrusions, perhaps it wasn't so surprising that she'd take sides. Right now, Andrea certainly wasn't going to question any allies. "If you pick him as your heir, you're setting him up for the sort of life nobody would wish upon their children. Keep your hands off him, Albert. You're not putting him out for the vultures. Or making him live here."

"I'm not saying he has to live here in Monaco," Albert countered, though Andrea would have laid down money on the bet that exactly that had been on his mind. "But he should be seen. People like babies."

"So make your own," Andrea's mother said. "You've got a wife, and we all know you've figured out where babies come from, all you need to do is do it legitimately this time."

Albert's wife greeted the comment with an icy glower, which would have been more impressive if she had still been able to move at least a few facial muscles. Botox, Andrea had long decided, was a bitch.

"Unfortunately," Albert said with a sideward glance at her, "we have not been blessed with children so far."

"That would require sleeping with her, and who in their right mind would?" Alexandra murmured, pitched only for Andrea and Pierre to hear. "Not even Uncle Albert is that crazy anymore."

To her right, Pierre suddenly developed a coughing fit.

"For that reason," Albert continued unperturbed, "we have come up with the perfect solution."

Seven pairs of eyes watched him cautiously. Even Aunt Stephanie looked wary.

"We will adopt Stefano as our own son," he declared. "That way the succession is assured, and it is a perfect move from a public relations point of view. All my advisers agree on that."

There was deafening silence for a few seconds as they digested this. 

"You cannot be serious," Andrea finally managed, still not sure he had heard right, and was half out of his chair already before Pierre and their mother pulled him back down. "Tell me this is a joke."

"It's all part of a grand plan, you'll see," Albert said, looking perfectly pleased with himself. "I'll explain, of course you wouldn't have the insights-"

"I'm not interested!" Andrea snapped. "You are not ruining my son's life. Who do you think you are that you can just decide that, that..."

A hand on his arm made him trail off. Turning his head, he saw his mother shoot him a warning look before she returned her attention to her brother. 

"Albert, forget it," she said, her tone cool. "Leave Stefano alone, or I swear you will regret it."

It was the same tone of voice that had Andrea and his siblings duck their heads in remembered reaction. When Mama sounded like that, you didn't want to attract attention.

"Caroline..."

"Oh, stop it, Albert. What do you want, Stefano as your heir so that when you suffocate from your own idiocy in a few years, Monaco gets a toddler as the next Prince? I don't think so. And you know as well as I do that the constitution doesn't allow for adoptions of minors as heirs, Grandmother Charlotte is the best example of that."

"I am Prince," Albert said, sounding petulant now. A dangerous stance, Andrea knew, but right now, still too focused on the idea that his uncle dared to drag Stefano into this whole mess, he couldn't bring himself to care. "I can change the constitution."

"Only if the crown council and the supreme court agree." Andrea's mother sounded deceptively pleasant. "Do you want to risk that?"

Not for the first time, Andrea wondered how much influence exactly his mother wielded behind the scenes. She wasn't showing any signs of involving herself in politics, but she had been a fixture in Monaco for decades by now. And Pierre had been following in her footsteps for the last few years as well, his position strengthened by networking and financial investments. 

The idea suddenly crossed Andrea's mind that those two could probably take over the country within a day or two if they ever decided to go for it. It made for a rather sobering realisation.

Albert leaned back in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Don't threaten me."

"It's not a threat," Andrea's mother said sweetly. "I suggest you leave the line of succession exactly as it is. And remember that Stefano has two perfectly suitable parents who love him and are there for him, and that the last thing he needs is to be dragged into this mess of your making."

Next to Aunt Stephanie, stone-faced as she sat in her chair, Louis and Pauline appeared to be trying to make themselves invisible. Family feuds were nothing new, though Andrea and his siblings had always gotten along well with their cousins. But that didn't make it any more pleasant, not when you had a family background where the occasional assassination attempt had happened and a few had even succeeded.

"I am the Prince of Monaco," Albert said. 

"Do remind us of that," Andrea's mother countered. "We might forget otherwise."

"I am the Prince of Monaco," he repeated angrily. "I'm the one who makes the decisions."

"And we all know how perfect they've been over the years." Andrea's mother sat straighter. "Where do you want to start, Albert? The way you've ruined the investment structure? Your disastrous ideas for the harbour? That charming reputation for a mafia-riddled crime haven you've earned us? With that sort of track record, only lunatics would give you a child. If you're that desperate, go and legitimise one of your bastards. Oh, but that's not the same, is it? That would make you look so very desperate, especially if someone happens to drag up all the old stories about how you tried to deny that the children exist. For some reason, people frown upon that."

She got to her feet and gathered her bag. "This meeting is over," she declared, and Andrea, Pierre and Alexandra were quick to follow her example and stand as well. "There obviously isn't anything useful left for us to discuss."

***

Tatiana was still fuming over Albert's audacity a few weeks later whenever it came up in conversation. "I still can't believe he actually suggested that," she growled in Spanish, carefully sticking to that language as part of their goal to have Stefano grow up bilingual. "I'll kill whoever dares to touch the peanut."

Over on the other couch, Guillaume and Amedeo - both fluent in Spanish as well thanks to family backgrounds and gap years - shot her cautious glances. A second's hesitation, then Amedeo quickly passed Stefano on to Carl, whose comprehension stopped at 'dos cervezas, por favor', and who looked a little confused at suddenly finding himself with an armful of happy, cooing baby. 

"Uncle Albert won't get to have him even for a photo," Andrea assured her in French, which was marginally easier for Wills and Carl. But they were playing along with the language situation and, as Amedeo had pointed out earlier, getting free courses in French out of it which all royals should know, anyway.

Wills had just rolled his eyes and grumbled about drawbacks of international friendships, but was doing his best. It had only taken Guillaume half an hour to stop wincing at his pronunciation, too.

"So what will you do for National Day in two weeks?" Amedeo asked. "Don't you have a photo op with the whole family every year for that?"

Andrea slid a little lower to settle into a comfortable sprawl, legs stretched out before him, and got his ankle kicked when he not quite accidentally bumped it against Carl's shin.

"Go snuggle with your wife," his friend told him with a grin and a quick, warning glance towards their Luxembourgian pair. He had a point there, Andrea had to admit - their pet archduke wasn't really a concern, but how Guillaume would react was another question. He no longer batted an eyelash at displays of affection around him, but letting him in on the secret of what had been between Carl and Andrea might just be going too far.

"So, National Day?" Wills picked up as Andrea let himself be distracted by Tatiana settling against him, one eye on Stefano. 

Andrea gave him a pleading look. "I thought perhaps we'd come hide with you."

Most of his attention still on Stefano, Carl smiled at him apologetically. "We'll be off to Scotland, sorry."

Tatiana cocked her head, then rested her cheek against Andrea's shoulder. "Scotland? An official appointment?"

"No, we're going to inaugurate our cottage."

Four pairs of eyes looked at him curiously. "What cottage?" Tatiana asked, her arm sliding around Andrea's waist as she nestled closer. There should be more evenings like this, he decided, with his friends around and with Tatiana quietly petting his hair. One day he might even be able to muster the energy again to do something more adventurous, like take his lady out to dinner. But for that they both needed a full night's sleep first.

"The one we're hoping the press won't catch on about until the end of winter." Wills leaned in to tickle Stefano for a second, then focused on Andrea again. "Gran gave us half of it as a present and we paid for the rest."

Andrea considered that. It made sense for his friends to get their own place outside of London for their holidays and as an escape from the city. And with Charles still not letting up, the family properties always came with the risk of unwanted company. 

"What's the press going to say about it once they catch on?" Amedeo asked the question that was on Andrea's mind as well. 

"Hopefully that it's good for us to show interest in other parts of the country," Wills said. "And that we've deserved the occasional vacation." That last was said with a pointed glance at Guillaume, who studiously ignored it. 

"We could come and visit?" Andrea asked hopefully.

Carl snorted with laughter at the suggestion. "Scotland? In November? You? With the peanut?" He shook his head. "Normally yes, but... as Wills said, we're planning to inaugurate it with a private party."

"Ah," Andrea drawled. "Of course, a few days of sex and not much else."

Guillaume rolled his eyes and seemed to pray for God to intercede.

"Sounds like fun," Amedeo said, eyebrows waggling, and earned himself a flat look from his husband for the comment. "What? I'm just saying it as it is, it's not like we did anything different when the renovations were finally finished."

With a sigh, Guillaume buried his face in his hands. Amedeo just watched him for a second, smirking, then leaned in to kiss his temple.

"Don't worry, love, I think they've figured out by now that we're sleeping together in more than just the literal sense."

"You don't say," Tatiana murmured dryly, smiling when Andrea nuzzled at the crook of her neck. For a few seconds he got to enjoy the chance at closeness, then they both looked up when they caught a by now familiar fussing sound from Stefano. 

"Never mind," Carl told them with a quick grin. "Keep snuggling, just tell me where you're storing the nappies and all the other stuff."

"Bathroom, the set of drawers by the window," Andrea said and gave him a grateful look. Babies, he had discovered, were the best way by far to guarantee chastity. They seemed to know instinctively when their parents wanted a moment or two to themselves, which was faintly frustrating on the one hand, but on the other decreased the likelihood of younger siblings immensely. "One day we'll tell him that England's Prince Consort has changed his nappies when he was tiny. He'll need something to brag about, after all."

***

"So how are you really doing?" Wills asked him that evening as they stood together on the terrace of Monaco's Hotel de Paris, away from prying eyes and ears. A few minutes of fresh air, officially to discuss private matters, unofficially to give Andrea and Guillaume a chance at a quick smoke without their spouses noticing. 

"What do you mean?" Andrea asked, accepting Guillaume's lighter with a nod of thanks. "Everything's fine."

Guillaume gave him a cursory once-over. "Which is why you're looking so harried, I presume?" 

Andrea frowned at him. "You're one to talk. I heard you tinker with the espresso machine at five this morning."

"I had an early call with the trade envoy in Moscow-"

"You're on holiday," Wills interrupted sternly. "No calls to trade envoys."

"But-"

Wills glowered at him. Guillaume held his stare for a few seconds, then looked away and pretended to focus on his cigarette. 

Leaning against the wrought iron balustrade, Andrea considered their Hereditary Grand Duke. "You do look tired." And he did, at that; they were all used to Guillaume exuding a faint air of stressed tension at all times by now, but it felt more serious this time. "From more than just one early morning. Do we need to talk to Amedeo?"

Guillaume fixed him with his familiar exasperated glower. "I do not know why you are so interested in our marital relations, but I wish you would stop."

Andrea winked at him. "Never, it's far too much fun to speculate what you two get up to, especially when you've never returned even one of my little packages. Having fun, are you?" Indubitably, if Guillaume's sudden high colour was any indication, and he had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. "But that's not what I meant."

Heaving a sigh, Guillaume rolled his eyes. "I don't appreciate your interest in my private life."

"It's not private," Wills said. "You're heir apparent, you don't technically have a private life. And even if that weren't the case, we're not going to stand around and let you run yourself into the ground."

"Exactly," Andrea agreed. "Who's going to write my conference notes if you keel over?"

Another of those irritated looks, though by now Andrea easily weathered them. "If you must mock them, see how well you do without them next time."

"I'm not mocking," Andrea quickly assured him. "I'd never mock your conference notes. I love your conference notes. And you for drawing them up, and for sharing them with me." He paused. "You know, you should be looking happier about me declaring my adoration for you and your abilities."

Guillaume didn't bother to reply. Progress, Andrea figured.

"Finished, you two?" Wills asked, arms crossed comfortably in front of his chest, his hip leaning against the banister. 

Andrea shrugged. "For now."

"Good. So how are you doing?" The question sounded light-hearted, but he knew his friend well enough to be very much aware of the serious undercurrent. Wills was far too good at times when it came to picking up on small details he wasn't supposed to notice. 

"It's all a bit much," he admitted, flicking ash over the banister and down at the Place du Casino in a well-practised gesture. "Stefano is a full-time job, and Albert's not letting up either. But we're managing."

There was something far too knowing about the way Guillaume scrutinised him. "It's perhaps not my place to say, but your uncle needs to clarify your position. Either you're his heir, with the sort of official support the position demands and deserves, or you're a representative of the Prince of Monaco, with fewer duties and responsibilities."

That struck a little too close to home, but Andra wasn't about to admit that, so he just fluttered his eyelashes at Guillaume. "Thank you, oh wise friend, for telling me that. It would never have occurred to me." 

"With you, one never knows," Guillaume muttered, ducking his head when Wills shot him a disapproving frown. "So do something about it."

"You aren't going to tell me to stage a coup again, are you?" Andrea asked warily. "I get enough of that from my Mother and from Pierre."

Guillaume looked contemplative for a second, then shook his head. "That would be counter-productive at the moment," he said eventually. "But you need to clarify your position and reach a few acceptable compromises."

"And that from you," Andrea said with a shake of his head. 

"He has a point, though." Wills shuffled a half-step towards him, enough to bump shoulders together in a friendly fashion. "You're going to have to set down a few rules, or your uncle's going to run you ragged. You've got Stefano now, Tatiana's going to strangle you if you let her raise him by herself."

"I'm not going to let that happen," he said firmly. "Stefano comes first, we've agreed on that. Uncle Albert doesn't quite believe it yet, but I'm not going to make compromises there." He owed that much to Tatiana, to their son and to himself, and Albert was welcome to throw a tantrum if he thought it would change Andrea's mind in the matter. 

Wills and Guillaume exchanged an odd look. 

"Good," Wills said eventually. "It's going to be difficult enough for the peanut once you're Prince of Monaco, it's going to get much harder then."

It suddenly occurred to Andrea that his friends probably knew only too well what it meant to have working royals as parents. They'd both grown up as the children of heirs, and there'd been enough hints in conversations over the years about what that meant. Constant scrutiny, a lot less time with their parents than in normal families... Yet another reason for Andrea to go about things the Grimaldi way and not bother with established traditions and conventions. There had to be some benefits to belonging to a house known for their disregard for such things.

***  
 _December 2017_  
***

National Day came and went with an inner-family scuffle this year, caused by Charlotte - purely accidentally, of course - choosing almost the same dress and hat as Albert's wife, who was well aware that she lost in a direct comparison. Her attempt to deal with it gracefully included attempting to shove Charlotte to the back during the balcony appearance, a shot at tripping her on the way up the Cathedral's steps, and rearranging her own outfit in the middle of mass until the whole congregation was left to stare at her in disbelief. 

A similar scene took place during the AIDS gala two weeks later, where her thunder was stolen by Wills and Carl. The press found it much more interesting to speculate why Prince William of Wales was spending the evening in the company of Guillaume and Amedeo, looking irritated, while Carl stuck with Philippos of Greece and Denmark and looked perfectly pleased with that. By morning, the tabloids had decided that they were witnessing a marriage crisis and nobody paid any attention to the Princess of Monaco. 

The lack of attention continued the next day, when Wills and Carl were spotted at the airport in a pose that left very little doubt that if there had been an argument, it certainly was resolved now.

"She's still fuming about it all," Andrea reported when he called Wills a few days before Christmas. "According to her, it's an outrage that she's ignored in favour of your hands on Carl's arse. Not that I can blame any of the reporters, I'd much rather speculate about Carl's rear end as well."

"As long as you only speculate," Wills said, managing to sound both amused and possessively growly at the same time. 

Andrea chuckled, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could tape shut the box on the desk in front of him. "Don't worry, I know he's yours. And even if I'd forgotten, I just packed a few of your commemorative condoms as part of your Christmas present. You two look very fetching on the wrapping."

He could practically hear Wills roll his eyes. "Don't tell me those things are still around."

"Of course they are. But I think the commemorative lube sachets they handed out for your wedding are getting rare by now."

"Thank God for that," Wills said in a heartfelt voice.

"You're right, they weren't anything special anyway," Andrea agreed with a grin as he tied the ribbon. One of these days he'd have to suggest a few select investment opportunities to Pierre, the erotic toys industry certainly was doing well enough thanks to Andrea's little packages. "Hey Wills?"

"Yes?"

"Things are all right between you and Carl, aren't they?" 

Wills was silent for a moment, then breathed an audible sigh. "We had an argument. We made up. It happens, and before you get any ideas again, no, you don't need to stage an intervention to help us patch things up between us. Have you talked to Tatiana about it?"

Andrea sat back in his chair, idly toying with a bit of leftover ribbon. "She says you two probably had a moment of being male and idiotic." He paused. "Did you?"

"I'm not going to answer that," Wills said. "And, Andrea?"

He hummed expectantly. 

"There really isn't anything going on." Wills sounded surprisingly gentle. "But thanks for worrying."

***  
 _February 2018_  
***

For a little while, Andrea didn't worry. The time between Christmas and New Year was one of the few chances for royal families to take a few days off together, so it wasn't unusual to be unable to reach someone. He tried to call Carl a few times, then figured that his friend was probably occupied with private matters (like racing cars on frozen lakes, or playing hockey on frozen ponds, or some other insane activity involving the great, icy outdoors). They managed to shoot text messages back and forth, and Andrea didn't think too much about it all. If there was one thing he'd learned, it was that being a working royal meant that you _worked_ , and that even if you weren't as obsessive about it as Guillaume, it could still swallow you whole for days, even weeks at a time.

And when it wasn't work, it was family which took over every second of attention. Andrea went down with the flu, and for a few days they were both barely daring to breathe while they waited to see whether Stefano had caught it as well. Once that particular concern dissipated, Pierre vanished for over a week, only to surface again in a bar in Casablanca of all places when they'd begun to seriously worry. And as if that hadn't been enough, Alexandra got herself thrown out of university over an incident involving quantum physics and two tons of potatoes. Then the annual Rose Ball, and before Andrea really was aware of it, he hadn't heard from Carl or Wills for weeks and hadn't seen any mention of them performing official duties either.

A quick question to Guillaume and Amedeo only increased his concerns when the last life sign those two had received had been an e-mail for Amedeo's birthday, over a month ago.

"I'm sure everything is fine," Amedeo told him over the phone. "It's not like anything can have happened to them, you can't exactly hide that sort of thing from the press these days. Perhaps they saw a chance to get away for a little while and took it, you can't blame them for that."

Andrea nodded dubiously. "Wouldn't the papers wonder, though?"

"They'd remark on it if Guillaume or I disappeared for more than a few days, but Wills isn't doing royal duties on a regular basis. If he's on SAR duty and Carl's having a bout of press aversion, it's easily possible that they drop off the radar for a while." Amedeo sounded almost wistful at the idea. "You'll be at Beatrice's wedding, won't you? There's no way Wills can skip that, you'll see them there at the very latest."

"Point taken," Andrea said with a sigh. "Do you always have to be so reasonable?"

The petulant question earned him loud laughter from their pet archduke. "I thought you objected to the dynastic irrationality?"

"You're being sneaky about it, I bet," Andrea said. "Letting me get used to you being all Habsburg and weird, and then turning sensible all at a sudden. I'm sure you're doing it on purpose."

"And why would I?" Amedeo asked, clearly amused. 

Andrea had to smirk despite his still lingering concerns. "That's easy. World domination, of course. You're a Habsburg, you can't help yourself."

"If I were after that, don't you think there'd be simpler ways to go about it?"

"A-ha. So you _have_ thought about it."

"Naturally. All the time..." Amedeo trailed off. "Oh, hey love... no, just telling Andrea that I'm not trying to seize control of the planet... No, really not. Grandfather might be proud, but I don't plan on acquiring any more countries... No, Andrea hasn't heard from them either, he was just checking whether we knew anything."

Andrea felt a small pang of concern to his stomach at that. If Guillaume was beginning to wonder about them, then that was a sign for trouble. Their Hereditary Grand Duke was all about propriety and not interfering with others, so if even he thought something was odd and actually said so, Andrea wasn't about to ignore that.

"What do you want to do about it?" Tatiana asked him that evening as they lay in bed together, Stefano dozing between them. They'd discovered a while ago that their peanut didn't let his parents' voices keep him awake and actually fussed less during the night if he got to cuddle with them in the evening.

Trial and error, Andra was discovering, played a bigger role in parenthood than he'd expected.

"I don't know," he admitted, carefully stroking his thumb over Stefano's hand. "But I don't like this, they aren't usually this distant if they aren't busy, and if they were busy, we'd have heard of it."

Tatiana nodded in agreement. "Unless they're privately busy," she said. "They had the move to York House in summer, then the new place in Scotland. Perhaps they are still busy picking out furniture. Remember Carl's talent for assembling things?"

He couldn't help chuckling at the memory of his friend attempting to put together an Ikea crib after insisting that as a Swede and a Bernadotte, he had some standards to uphold for his godson. It had taken two days and six bottles of wine before the two of them had managed to put the darned thing together, but at least Stefano now happily slept in it at night. "You think he's sitting in their cottage and trying to work out where he dropped the hex key?"

"Might take a while." Smiling, Tatiana ran her hand over Stefano's head, then treated Andrea to the same gesture. "Let them be busy. They have a few changes to deal with, and Alex says that Charles has been troublesome again. I think they just want to have a bit of peace and quiet."

Andrea blinked at her. "You talked to Alex?" 

She winked. "Consorts' network," she said, lightly tugging at a strand of his hair. 

"I'm starting to be afraid of that name."

"You should be, with Amedeo and Maxima running it. They know all the best tricks, and they're sharing with us."

Andrea quirked an eyebrow at her. "Are they, now?"

Bracing herself on her elbows, Tatiana carefully leaned over Stefano to give Andrea a kiss, quick and teasing. "Of course. We've got to have a full repertoire of tools at our disposal to deal with you heirs."

Between them, Stefano made a contented gurgling noise in his sleep, and Andrea had to reach out and rub his belly, once more startled at the rate he was growing. It gave Pierre the perfect excuse to gift them with new romper suits on an almost weekly basis. "So what does Alex say?"

"That our terrible twosome is doing their best not to spend time in London while Charles is there, and that Wills is pulling intense flight duties right now. And Daniel told me that Carl's busy with that last outstanding university exam, he's got his head full with facts about cattle these days. If you ask him a question right now, he may just moo."

The general young royals network was efficient enough already, and Andrea had benefited from it more than once. But the consorts' subset of it was putting the KGB to shame, and the more Andrea heard about it, the more he wondered who'd really be running the countries once the current set of heirs came into power. 

"So you think we shouldn't worry?" he asked.

Tatiana kissed the corner of his mouth, the gesture soothing this time, then settled down again. "They're having a stressful phase, that's all, just give them time to come out of it. You know how that goes."

He did, which was one of the reasons why he was worried. If he hadn't had Tatiana by his side when he'd gone through his own version of rough seas in his private and official life, he didn't know how it all would have turned out. Carl and Wills watched out for each other and he trusted them to keep each other safe, but they were his friends. He couldn't _not_ worry.

"Don't look like that, they'll be fine," Tatiana told him. 

He winked at her and reached for her hand to press his lips against her palm. "I know. I just miss them."

The smile she gave him was sympathetic. "Need to play with the boys again?" she teased. 

"I wouldn't mind the distraction," he admitted. "There's just too much to worry about these days when I'm in Monaco."

Tatiana's expression darkened. "Don't tell me Albert is trying something again. If he's making any more plans for us and the peanut..."

"He isn't, and I won't let him if he gives it another go. He's not getting Stefano for any of his idiotic ideas."

"I'll take the peanut and hide in Rio if I have to," Tatiana muttered, putting her hand protectively on Stefano's belly. The gesture produced a snuffle and a questioning coo until he figured out that this was Mama and no reason to be worried or wake up completely. 

Andrea gave her a pleading smile. "Take me with you?" he asked, resting his hand on top of hers.

"Of course, as long as you promise not to tell them where we're going." There was something about the way she was watching him now, a sharp tension that hadn't been there before. 

Not sure what to make of that, Andrea waited and stroked his fingers across the back of her hand, trying to gauge her temper. Albert's attempts at enlisting Stefano for his causes got to her, and that in turn got to Andrea. Tatiana always was the more level-headed, the more reasonable, and when she was unsettled, it threw Andrea off balance. 

"Andrea," she said eventually, turning her hand so she could loosely clasp his fingers, "are you certain about this? We could leave."

There were times when it was so very tempting to simply do that. Get away from the insanity of Monaco, just like they'd done during their gap year. Be normal people, or as normal as they could manage, rather than the prospective future leaders of the principality. Live in New York or in South America somewhere, perhaps even London or Paris would be far enough. They'd be able to raise the peanut in peace, spend their days away from the restrictions of formal engagements and the permanent need to deal with the press. 

"I wish it were so simple," he murmured, unable to meet her eyes for a second. 

Her hand tightened on his. "It is simple."

"No, it isn't. I can't, there's too much riding on it all by now. If it were just about us, that would make it simple, but there are thirty thousand Monegasques who're counting on us. And Mama, and Pierre..." He looked at her then, relieved beyond measure to see it in her eyes that she understood what he was trying to say. If she really wanted to leave, he didn't know what he'd do. "We can't. _I_ can't."

Tatiana sighed quietly. "It's nice to think about it, though. But promise me one thing."

He nodded earnestly. "Anything."

A quick smile, reassuringly teasing. "That's very brave of you. But you're lucky, I'm not going to ask you to come to New York with Athina and Eugenie and me next month. You'd never survive the experience."

She had a point there. "Ah... thank you?"

Laughing, Tatiana leaned over to kiss him. "Anytime. But what I want you to promise is that if you aren't sure that this is what you want to do, you'll not go through with it."

It wasn't so much about wanting, but about knowing that it was what he had to do. But there was no way to explain that to Tatiana. Wills and Guillaume would get it, he knew, but no normal, rationally-thinking person who hadn't been raised with the awareness that there were a lot of people depending on your whims. 

"If I don't think I should do this, I won't," he told her, carefully lying back down and closing his eyes. "Not a very cheerful topic. I know it's necessary, but it's just not what I was hoping to think about tonight."

"Poor you. Any distractions I can offer?"

He shot her a speculative glance. "Perhaps."

She chuckled and pinched his cheek before she rolled away, out of reach. "Go see if Uncle Pierre minds babysitting tonight?" she suggested with a wink.

Andrea opened his mouth to protest that surely Stefano would be good and sleep for an hour or two. Then he considered the impact a six-month-old could have on his parents' sex life, the impeccable talents when it came to picking the worst moment possible to need less than romantic things like diapers or fresh romper suits, and rolled over to fish for his mobile and call his brother.

Babies, he thought as he explained to Pierre that he was urgently needed in his capacity as an uncle, made life a lot more complicated than expected.

***  
 _April 2018_  
***

As royal weddings went, Andrea had to admit that he wasn't too excited about this one. He liked Princess Beatrice and it was nice to see her married, but she was more an acquaintance than a friend. And as for her husband-to-be, he'd only ever spent five minutes talking to him during one of Wills and Harry's polo matches a few years ago. A wedding was always a great excuse for everyone to have fun, but he wasn't sniffling with joy at seeing her walk down the aisle, looking for all the world like a startled pony wrapped in white taffeta.

What mattered a lot more was that Wills was visibly relieved at seeing his cousin finally tying the knot and taking one further step towards taking care of that pesky succession problem for him. He looked far more relaxed than Andrea could remember seeing him at official events before, almost as though... Andrea took in the smug look on Carl's face, the fact that Wills looked just a little bit rumpled in his spiffy black uniform, and realised he couldn't remember seeing those two during that gap between church ceremony and reception.

Well. So much for worrying about those two having a crisis. 

"I thought you'd bring the peanut," Theodora said when she stopped by his side, two glasses of red wine in her hands. 

Andrea waited for a second, not sure whether one of them was for him or if she intended to keep them both, but then was offered the one in her left. "He'd have loved to see Auntie Theodora," he said, "but he really wouldn't have helped the Grimaldi reputation right now, even if he's got better reasons for whining than Uncle Albert. Pierre's taken over for the weekend, he doesn't mind being woken up at three in the morning because someone's teething." 

Another of those horrifyingly domestic issues which had taken over Andrea's life lately. Not that he'd want to change that for anything in the world. 

Theodora smirked. "Remember, you were very much involved in creating that little bundle of joy."

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Jealous?"

"Of you or Tatiana?"

Her smirk widened. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"If you ever happen to be in the mood to find out..." he teased back, then aimed for mock seriousness. "But I hear you've got your own boy toy by now, Wills and Guillaume say they've interrogated him already."

"Jarret. Not boy toy." Theodora treated him to a scowl fierce enough to make him take a subconscious half-step back for safety. "I really don't need my cousin and my gay ex to meddle with my love life."

"Oh, so you _do_ have a love life." A grin on his face, Andrea ducked when she aimed a mock swat at him. "Come on, don't be mad. We like you, we just want to be sure he deserves you."

"Don't you think that's for me to decide?" she asked. 

Andrea waved dismissively. "You're blind with passion, you can't be expected to think straight."

"Am I, now." She was beginning to sound dangerous, but this was far too much fun for him to stop now. At worst, he figured that he could probably escape to Wills and Carl and beg them to rescue him if he really pissed her off. Or even better, Guillaume, she still had a soft spot for their Hereditary Grand Duke ever since their grand dating pretence. 

"Tragic, I know. So we'll just keep an eye on him for you. Where did you find him, anyway? Did he follow you home one day and you decided to keep him?"

Theodora looked sceptical and hid behind her glass for a moment. "If I satisfy your rabid curiosity, are you going to leave him in peace? He's still mortified over meeting Papa."

"Not part of the royal circuit, is he?" Andrea shook his head in pity. "You'd better make sure he acclimatises quickly and lets go of all those notions about us all being noble and proper."

Despite her efforts, the hint of a smile escaped her. "As though you ever managed to fool anyone. All of you."

"Guillaume is always wonderfully appropriate," Andrea pointed out.

"Guillaume just let his husband drag him into the linen closet down the hallway towards the kitchen."

Andrea quickly looked around, but couldn't spot their Luxembourgian couple anywhere. Intriguing. He'd have to find out immediately whether this was fodder for teasing or, even better, blackmail.

"So what's your shy, wilting little flower doing when he isn't scared of royalty?"

Theodora's smile turned sweet. "Well, when he doesn't whack rubber pucks at people at ninety miles an hour, he gets into brawls or smashes people into glass panels."

Andrea blinked. "Where on Earth did you find him?"

She grinned. "Hockey game. He followed me home afterwards and I decided to keep him. He's even royalty. Well, he plays for the LA Kings."

Perhaps it would be smarter to play nice and try to get along with the guy. After all, the man _was_ new to the insanity that was the royal scene, it wouldn't do to be too hostile.

"You're keeping him on a leash, right?" he asked and quickly looked over his shoulder, just to be sure.

"Not everybody's as kinky as you." Watching him contemplatively, Theodora had another mouthful of wine. "Do I need to tell you to be polite if you decide to interrogate him?"

"I'll be on my best behaviour," Andrea quickly assured her. 

Hockey player. Well, it probably took a really brave or really insane man to date their Greco-Danish valkyrie. Andrea wasn't sure which category Theodora's boy toy fell into, but he had the suspicion that it was the latter, if only because no man in full possession of his mental capacities would ever go for a princess. You had to suffer from hereditary craziness to even consider that sort of move. Or get bashed over the head with a hockey stick on a regular basis.

But as long as he made her happy... and she looked content with the way things were going. Wills and Guillaume hadn't reported anything worth being concerned about, either - aside from failing to mention the whole hockey player issue - so Andrea was willing to wait and see how this played out. Which didn't mean that he wasn't ready to rain hail and brimstone on the man if he dared to make their beloved valkyrie sad.

"Got any plans for later?" Harry asked when Andrea wandered past him.

Stopping in his tracks, Andrea gave him a wide-eyed stare. "You do remember that you and I are both happily married, right?" he asked. With Harry, it was always safest to re-establish certain facts, never mind how obvious they might seem. 

Harry snorted with laughter. "No, not that. I need someone to help me paint the horses pink before that midnight carriage ride across Windsor Park that Bea's planned."

Andrea quirked an eyebrow. "Pink?"

Harry nodded cheerfully. "Pink. I even got glow-in-the-dark paint, it's going to be awesome."

Making agreeable noises, Andrea listened to his plans for a minute, then seized the opportunity when Carl strolled past to quickly excuse himself and follow his friend.

"Help," he murmured, linking arms with Carl, "your brother-in-law wants me to aid him in creating life-size My Little Ponies."

To his credit, Carl didn't look at all confused at that statement. Then again, years of living under the same roof with Harry had to leave their mark. "It's Harry. Just tell him no and make him go see if Zara will play with him, she usually knows how to keep him under control. Or dump him on Alex, all she needs to do is give him a stern look and he'll come to heel."

"I'll keep that in mind." Carl still hadn't shaken him off, so Andrea seized the opportunity to slip an arm around his friend's waist and give him a swift peck on the cheek. "Thanks for rescuing me. My hero."

Carl chuckled. "What _is_ it with you today? First you hug Wills as if you hadn't seen him for years, now you're hanging on to me..."

Andrea leaned closer. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked, eyelashes fluttering.

"What happened, did Tatiana finally put an end to your fussing?"

"Tatiana didn't ever allow me to start fussing," he grumbled. She wasn't even letting him push the stroller anymore, never mind how hard he tried to be gentlemanly and polite. The only time when she didn't dispute his entitlement to spoil her was when Stefano descended into weltschmerz at four in the morning and made his displeasure with the situation known loud and clear. It was also the only time when Andrea really didn't feel in the mood to be a well-mannered husband. 

Not that he'd ever have been foolish enough to make Tatiana get up instead. She did make it up to him in the morning, after all. And in a way, it was nice to have a few minutes of male bonding time with Stefano, even if it was prompted by a need for a nappy change in the middle of the night. 

Carl patted his arm in a friendly fashion. "It's not like that can have come as a surprise," he said. "Why didn't you bring the peanut, by the way?"

"Why is everyone asking me that?" Andrea wanted to know. "And we left him with Charlotte and Mama because we figured that his godfather has other things to worry about."

They both glanced across the room at Wills, who was busy talking to his uncles and wearing what Andrea recognised as his official face. No wedding in a royal family was ever a private affair; it was all part of work, and for the British Royal Family, too much hinged on this marriage to let people really relax and enjoy themselves. Andrea wondered how Bea was dealing with knowing that she was essentially required to produce at least an heir and a spare at the earliest opportunity and hand them over to her cousin, metaphorically at least. If she minded, she at least wasn't showing it. 

The reception carried on, the atmosphere easing up gradually as the guests had a chance to share a few drinks and get the necessary niceties and mingling over and done with so they could go and spend the rest of the day with people whose company they actually enjoyed. 

"Still no improvement on that front?" Andrea asked quietly when the Prince of Wales breezed past them with barely a nod of acknowledgment for Carl, and nothing but frosty disregard for Andrea. He'd managed to avoid any further run-ins with Charles since that last disastrous polo tournament two years ago, but the man could still put him on edge just by coming within reach. 

Carl shot him a pained glance. "We're only meeting at official events these days," he said. "Sometimes he makes a comment in the papers, but other than that... He's still trying to force Wills to see the light about how I am merely a foolish diversion and how there's still time to figure that out and marry a woman who knows about the rules of accommodation."

"How is he supposed to do that, walk up to a suitably noble woman somewhere and ask her whether she wouldn't mind being his beard and look the other way while he sneaks you up the back stairs?" Andrea shook his head. "And people say my family is irrational. He's not thinking about it, right?"

"Of course not, but it's not exactly fun when your father-in-law keeps on sniping. One of these days..." Carl trailed off, a smile crossing his face when Wills came towards them, a purposeful expression in his eyes. "Everything sorted?"

Wills glanced at Carl, then at Andrea, who just held up his hands and grinned. "Just keeping him company while you were gone, that's all."

"Just so." A kiss for Carl and a laugh for Andrea when he looked expectant. "Keep dreaming."

Andrea pursed his lips. "One day I'll get you," he declared. "You won't be able to resist forever."

Carl turned his head to look at him, eyebrows raised. "You realise that you're standing next to me, right? And that he's mine?"

"You're welcome to join in, of course," Andrea told him. "The more, the merrier."

Shaking his head, Wills reached out to tousle his hair. "You," he said fondly, "are crazy."

Andrea batted his eyelashes. "Admit it, you like me that way."

"Always. And I admire Tatiana for her patience and serenity every day." One practised move and Wills had Carl tucked against his side in what Andrea easily recognised as a mixture of possessiveness and casual habit that came natural to them two of them. 

They quickly shifted into easy banter, and what remained of Andrea's worries that something was wrong with his friends quickly dissipated. Carl and Wills didn't look at all as if they were having trouble; quite the contrary, they radiated contentment, the way they stood together, Carl leaning against Wills, his husband's arm around his waist. Whatever had happened to make them vanish over the winter, it hadn't had any negative impact on their relationship. If anything, they had lost that slight edge whenever they'd had to interact with the outside world. Carl had even been reasonably relaxed during all the public photo opportunities of the day, and if that wasn't a good sign, then Andrea didn't know what was. 

Guillaume and Amedeo stopped by a little later, both suspiciously neat and tidy for a day of celebrations. Almost as though they'd taken the time to clean up... Andrea cast a surreptitious glance at Guillaume's carefully buttoned-up collar and the faint hint of smugness in Amedeo's mien and gave them both a smirk. "The laundry closet was to your liking, I hope?"

Guillaume looked mortified; Amedeo merely gave a philosophical shrug. "Comfy, but a bit cramped after a while. Especially when we couldn't get out because Theodora was snogging her boy toy against the door. If we hadn't locked it, we might have had company."

Everybody blinked at that. 

"Well, he's a hockey player," Andrea ventured after a moment, "so he's probably used to close quarters. Can't be that different from the penalty box."

"More fun, though," Carl added. "Unless hockey has changed a lot since I got to play it last time."

Andrea waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Judging by some of the things I keep hearing about the NHL teams... So you two managed a daring escape?"

With a dramatic swoop of his arms, Amedeo nodded. "We figured we'd better hide with you guys. Safety in numbers."

"Safety from what?" Wills wanted to know.

Amedeo pointed at the remote end of the room, where Tatiana, Theodora and Madeleine were standing together. "That formidable triumvirate over there." He paused. "Can you call it a triumvirate when it's about three women?"

"No idea, but whatever you call it, that's a damned scary sight," Wills said. "And we're losing the other reception guests as a buffer, they're starting to go home."

"Might be an idea for us as well," Carl said. "Can you get away already?"

Wills glanced at his watch. "Bea left at midnight, Gran's gone too, Dad should have headed back to Clarence House... I don't think anyone's still keeping tabs on us. Do any of you still want to stay?"

Guillaume shook his head and, after a scrutinising look at his husband, Amedeo followed suit. "You're not actually going to make us go to bed already, are you?"

Carl shot him an amused look. "Got plans?"

Amedeo winked at him. "Always. But I was just thinking that we haven't seen you two for a while, catching up would be nice."

"I'd better see if the girls want to join us," Wills said, squaring his shoulders. "Wish me luck."

***

Breakfast together in the kitchen of York House's guest rooms had turned into a tradition for when they all gathered in London. This time was no exception, though it was noteworthy for the simple fact that not even Guillaume had managed to get up before eight. Andrea figured the game of Twister at four in the morning had probably done the trick. It still hadn't stopped him from wearing a proper suit and tie, but by now they all were used to seeing him like that when everybody else opted for jeans and shirts.

"Are you going to manage to keep yourselves entertained?" Wills asked, toying with the last bite of toast in his hand. 

Tatiana gave him a reassuring smile. "Of course. We'll make sure we won't get bored, and we've got Guillaume to keep us out of trouble."

Guillaume rolled his eyes and poured himself another espresso. "You're all adults, just remember it on occasion."

"Where'd be the fun in that?" Andrea teased. "But don't worry, Wills, we'll play nice. Are you going to be done in time for dinner? We thought we could go out."

"The award ceremony shouldn't take too long, and Carl won't come along for the meeting with Aunt Anne, so you'll have him for sure, and me too unless something goes wrong." He frowned at his toast. "Sorry to abandon you guys."

"It's hardly your fault that your uncle is indisposed," Guillaume assured him. By his side Amedeo, not entirely awake yet after a mere two cups of coffee, produced an incomprehensible murmur that sounded like agreement. 

Carl shrugged. "Usually the Windsors are better at holding their liquor," he said and got up from his chair. "High tea and all that."

"High tea?" Tatiana asked.

Amedeo roused enough for a grin. "You'll find out soon enough, once you get to do the ladies' programme with Prince Philip. I can't wait for the next opportunity."

"The Duchess of Cornwall did say she's looking forward to having you back for another round as long as you promise not to touch her gin." Stepping behind Wills, Carl leaned down to drop a kiss on his bald spot. "Come on, we'd better get going."

Wills sighed, finished his toast and got up. "See you all tonight. And I'll hold you to that promise about not getting into trouble."

They all did their best to look like personifications of angelic innocence. Even Guillaume was wearing what Andrea knew to be his 'never mind me, I'm totally harmless' face, which he usually only bothered with when dealing with arrogant delegates about to find out that it was a mistake to underestimate him. Wills narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but didn't say anything and instead followed Carl out.

"Looks like there's no reason for us to be worried," Tatiana said once the two of them were gone and she could switch back to French. "Whatever kept them occupied for the last few months, it certainly wasn't anything between them."

Andrea cocked his head. "I do hope they found ways to occupy themselves," he said, then yelped when someone kicked him under the table and Guillaume and Tatiana both looked at him sternly. "Yes, yes, I know. And I'm happy everything seems all right with them, they really had me worried."

"We'll just keep a closer eye on them for now in case something else comes up," Tatiana decided. "With summer coming, it should be easier to get them to take the occasional holiday, especially if we can ask Wills to babysit Stefano."

"Reached that phase, have you?" Amedeo asked, giving Guillaume's full coffee cup a longing glance. Guillaume followed the direction of his gaze, sighed and passed the object of desire over to him. 

"A full night's sleep would be nice," Andrea admitted. "I'm starting to see the idea behind godparents."

Amedeo chuckled. "Convenient babysitters who can't really say no," he said, treating himself to a sip of coffee with a blissful smile on his face before handing the cup back to Guillaume. "Félix is doing the same, and he got both of us, Guillaume for Marie-Charlotte and me for Thérèse."

Tatiana shot him a scrutinising look. "Do you mind?" she asked.

"Of course not, they're family, I'd be-"

The sound of a cell phone interrupted him, and all three men immediately scrambled in their pockets for their phones until Guillaume and Amedeo worked out that it wasn't one of theirs. Pavlovian conditioning was a bitch. 

With a sigh, Andrea answered the call. "It's still early and we were busy with international diplomatic negotiations until sunrise-"

"Diplomatic relations?" Guillaume asked.

Amedeo shrugged. "Twister. Remember, he kept negotiating the blue spot with you."

Andrea frowned at them, then returned his attention to the phone call. "-so whatever this is, it had better be good."

"Andrea," Alexandra told him, sounding far too worried for comfort, "you're in trouble."

He blinked. "I'm not allowed to be in trouble," he said, three pairs of eyes focusing on him at that statement. "Why am I in trouble?"

"Because I'm on the way to visit Mama in the Palace and I just overheard Uncle Albert and a few of his flunkies saying that they're dumping a press conference on you tomorrow morning because Albert's got some sort of TV appearance in France."

Andrea slowly shook his head as he considered that. "That's not really trouble. What is it about, the expansion of the Oceanographic Museum? I probably know more about that than Albert, anyway, I got to deal with all the crazy scientists already." And had learned more about the love life of the giant squid than he'd ever wanted to know. 

"That would be easy," Alexandra said. "No, he's skipping the one on the annual budget. You're going to have to talk to the piranhas about it."

It took him a second to process that.

"Fuck."

"Succinctly put," his sister agreed. "Anyway, when you're back tomorrow, they'll expect you to have something to say about that."

"Say what? I have no idea about that topic, they never let me have a look at the figures before. For that matter, I don't even know if we have a budget this year or if Albert's just making it all up as he goes along." He paused and took a deep breath, managing a shaky smile when Tatiana's hand came to rest on the crook of his arm. "Are you sure you aren't mistaken? He hasn't told me anything yet."

As if on cue, his phone pinged to tell him a text message had arrived.

"To quote, 'get Andrea to do it, the boy needs to practise bullshitting the press anyway' if you really want to know," Alexandra said. "Oh, and the flunkies thought it would be great to get you by surprise so you'd be taken down a peg and so the press can blame you for the budget."

"It's not my budget!"

"I doubt anyone cares." Alexandra's voice had that soothing pitch all the women in the family had in their repertoire, and Andrea felt marginally reassured. At least until she went on, "So you'd better figure out what to do about it. Good luck with that."

"Thanks," he murmured, terminated the call and put the phone down to look at the three concerned faces studying him. "Guillaume, any chance your father can grant me asylum?"

Guillaume gave him a flat look. "You've got your own country, so stay there."

In return Andrea scowled at him, but it didn't seem to have much of an effect. 

"What's Albert done this time?" Tatiana wanted to know, her hand still a warm point of contact on his arm.

Andrea gave them a quick summary - not that there really was much to tell after Alexandra's call and the text from his uncle - about the situation, wrapping up with, "And so I'm screwed because there's no way to do this."

Guillaume shook his head in disagreement, a gesture Andrea could have kissed him for. Only the knowledge that he'd in all probability get whacked for his pains kept him on his chair. "You've got a whole day. Get the numbers and figure it out, surely you can't be completely clueless."

"What numbers? I don't have them. You've been on enough conferences with me, you know how that goes with Monaco."

The look he received was the pained, patient expression usually reserved for exceptionally stupid statements. "Then get them. Surely someone has to have them."

Andrea shrugged, not bothering to hide his scepticism, but reached for his phone again.

Five minutes and a few calls later, Guillaume was shaking his head in disbelief. "What do you mean, they won't _give_ it to you?"

"State secrets," Andrea repeated. He still couldn't wrap his mind around that either.

Amedeo shared his husband's stunned expression. "Have you done anything to them that makes them want to screw you over so completely? Albert understands that this makes his entire government look incompetent, right?"

"I told you about the conferences, didn't I?" Guillaume said, leaning back in his chair with a slow sigh. "What about your brother?"

Feeling a pang of hope, Andrea reached for his phone again but was stopped by Tatiana. "Didn't he leave for Tierra del Fuego today?"

Andrea's reply was succinct, to the point and not something he'd have dared to say in front of Stefano.

"So Pierre is out as a source," Amedeo said. "How secret do you need this mess to stay?"

Andrea shrugged. "It's going to be all over the national press tomorrow."

"In that case let me make a phone call, I've got an idea but I need to check on a few things." Fishing his cell from the back pocket of his jeans, Amedeo got up and wandered out into the hallway. A few seconds later Andrea heard him talk, but couldn't make out words.

Guillaume was still watching him with a faintly incredulous expression on his face. "I knew that you Monegasques did things differently, but this... I thought Prince Albert has figured out by now that you're his heir and that he'd better prepare you for that?"

Tatiana made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl. "That would require Albert to grow some common sense. I've given up on that by now, we're doing damage control these days more than anything else. If the idiot had his way, Andrea would be running himself ragged."

"I can see that," Guillaume said, eyes narrowed with disapproval, and Andrea felt vindicated that for once he wasn't the one whose lack of professionalism was making their Hereditary Grand Duke look like that. "You have considered refusing to play along, I assume?"

"That would be counter-productive," Tatiana said, slowly stirring her coffee. "We need to play along, but we're working on establishing boundaries, especially where it's about Stefano. Albert's going to end up buried in a ditch before he gets to use the peanut for his idiotic ideas."

Lost for words, Andrea and Guillaume gave her wary glances at her matter-of-fact tone. At least Albert had worked out too that Tatiana was liable to permanently maim him if he did as much as look at Stefano the wrong way, and had kept his distance so far.

Amedeo's return saved them before the silence could stretch from surprised to awkward. He dropped down into his seat again and stole another sip of coffee from Guillaume, then leaned back. "I've perhaps got a solution for your little Monegasque mess," he said. "But I need Guillaume's agreement."

Tatiana arched an eyebrow. "Agreement?"

"Well, not agreement. More a promise of non-offence-taking."

Guillaume had turned in his chair by now and was watching his husband cautiously. "Why?"

"Because I can get my hands on the budget figures and on the latest audit report." Amedeo looked smug about that, but there was a hint of wariness in his eyes and the way he held himself. "Only I need to have a chat with Keyla for that."

The temperature in the room dropped considerably. "Keyla," Guillaume said, voice very, very neutral.

"She's the one in charge of the Monaco audit project these days." Amedeo made to pinch the bridge of his nose, caught himself before he could complete the gesture and began to fiddle with his napkin instead. "And she owes me a favour or two."

"I bet she does," Guillaume muttered. 

"Keyla?" Tatiana asked, meeting Andrea's puzzled look. He was fairly sure he'd heard the name before, but he couldn't immediately place it.

Amedeo sighed. "We used to go out for a while. Ten years ago." That last was said less to them than to Guillaume, who didn't look at all enthusiastic about the idea. "So, love... taking offence?"

Ah, yes, that Keyla. Andrea had never figured out entirely just what had gone down between Guillaume and Amedeo because of her, but it had been his first encounter with a pissed-off Archduke. It had left a lasting impression.

Guillaume met Amedeo's eyes, then slowly exhaled. "Your decision," he said.

"I know that," Amedeo said, a little too sharply. "Guillaume, I'm not asking your permission, but I'd like to know whether you're willing to take it without a fuss."

Andrea rolled his eyes and wished Wills were here to instill some sense into that situation. "If you want to have reconciliatory sex, can you have the fight afterwards this time? Because I'd really appreciate it if you could help me out here."

His friends exchanged another look. Guillaume was the first to turn away with a sigh; Amedeo watched for a second, hesitant, then leaned in to press a kiss against his temple and whisper something in his ear.

Guillaume heaved a sigh. "Call her," he said. "But she'd better remember that you're married."

Amedeo cast him a quick grin. "If it makes you feel better, I'll remind her," he said as he dialled, then switched from French to English with an ease Andrea envied. It usually took him a few seconds to find his footing again when he had to change languages in mid-conversation. "Hey Keyla... No, nothing's happened. Look, I'm sorry I woke you, hon... Oh? Nice, what's his name?" He winked at Guillaume. "Well, in that case tell Chris I'm sorry I'm bothering you right now, but I need your help and it's urgent. Mats told me you're still doing the Monaco audit?... Great. Listen, I'd appreciate it if you could send me the report and all the data you worked with... Yes, I know that's not allowed, but I've got the next Prince of Monaco sitting here, and unless we get those figures to work with, chances are there won't actually be a country to audit in a few years."

Andrea scowled at him. Amedeo blew him a kiss.

"That's perfect, thank you... Sure I'll recommend you... Will do. Thank you, and sorry for bugging you at this time. Good night!" He put the phone down with an air of satisfaction and leaned back in his chair before stealing the last of Guillaume's coffee. "A few minutes and she'll send it over."

Andrea blinked. "You consultants scare me."

"We're perfectly harmless." Not even Guillaume looked convinced. "All right, so we've got our sources but it's not like we're planning to do anything evil with it."

All Andrea had to do was quirk an eyebrow at that. 

Guillaume and Amedeo took charge of the situation from that point on, and in the next hours Andrea got a lesson in how to prepare for huge tasks on short notice. Amedeo wandered off with his laptop, Tatiana in tow to assist with the number crunching, while Guillaume started to quiz Andrea on all sorts of things, not everything strictly related to Monaco's finances.

"I don't see what tomorrow's weather has to do with the budget," Andrea said after twenty minutes of seemingly random questioning.

"You need references to your surroundings. So what's it? Tell me you're getting rain, those metaphors are always good for monetary matters."

Guillaume, it turned out, had whole files dedicated to segments of speeches and short prepared soundbytes, all tidily arranged by topic and level of sophistication, cross-referenced for intended effect on the audience and indexed by keyword. There even were remarks on who'd heard what already and whether the press had any records of it.

Andrea wasn't sure whether to feel fascinated or scared. He figured a bit of both might be best. 

At least it explained how Guillaume was able to handle his workload and still get the minimum hours of sleep necessary. It still made for a crazy effort, but there was ruthless organisation underneath it all, enough to leave Andrea impressed despite himself. Perhaps it was a leftover from Guillaume's time as regent while his father had been indisposed and he'd been left doing two jobs as once. Whatever it was, Andrea gained a few new insights in how important proper training was. He'd seen Guillaume's preparations before, and his friend had helped him out a few times when the notes supplied by the Monegasque administration had been lacking, but never to this extent. 

"You know," he said two hours into their work, "it's never occurred to me before, but if you wanted to, you could run Monaco within a day or two, couldn't you?"

Guillaume finished writing down a few more remarks on the last press appearance Andrea had done, then glanced at him. "I don't want to," he said. "I've got my own country. I like that one better."

"Can't blame you, Luxembourg suits you better anyway. But you could, couldn't you?"

Guillaume considered it. "Probably," he said. "But I really don't see why."

Andrea frowned at him. "I'll have you know that it's a very nice country."

"Are you trying to convince me to annex Monaco?"

"Of course not, but you've got to admit that it would be worth the effort."

Guillaume rolled his eyes. "If that helps you sleep better. But if anyone's going to do any governmental rearranging, it should be you."

"You're not going to tell me to stage a coup again, are you?"

"If you still need someone to tell you that, then you'd be the wrong person for it." Rolling his shoulders, Guillaume sat back and gave him one of those worryingly thorough looks which always left Andrea feeling like he'd gotten himself into trouble somehow. "Do you want to?"

Andrea snorted. "I could take that the wrong way, you know?"

Guillaume only gave him one of those exasperated looks and didn't bother clarifying.

"Do I want to stage a coup? Do I want to rule?" Andrea shrugged. "It's not about what I want anymore, is it?"

"No," Guillaume said simply. "And the sooner you realise that, the better. It's going to make your life a lot easier. So which language are you going to do the press conference in? English or French?" 

They went back to working on the prepared segments and replies to expected questions after that, but Andrea found it hard to focus entirely, his own words still buzzing in his mind. He'd known long enough that he'd been set on a course he couldn't easily change anymore, but it was one thing to know that and quite another to admit it to someone else, someone not part of the immediate family. Guillaume might have figured it out before - and Andrea suspected he had, the irritating bastard - but confirming it put it on another level.

Tatiana stopped by a few times to deliver fresh numbers from Amedeo, which gradually were supplemented by diagrams and overviews. A few of them had cranky remarks scribbled in the margins, and in a few places Amedeo hadn't even bothered with words anymore and simply added lopsided exclamation marks. 

By mid-afternoon, Andrea was beginning to feel marginally hopeful that he'd survive the next day. His notes were piling up, tidy colour-coded index stickers marking the individual segments and the back-up information. Tatiana had gone to fiddle with a hand-out for the press (all the while muttering that Andrea had better get himself an assistant, and soon), and Guillaume had even stopped his disbelieving murmurs and was instead fine-tuning the crib sheets for the free questions segment.

"Last batch of figures," Amedeo said as he wandered into the kitchen to first drop a stack of papers in front of Andrea, then a kiss on his husband's head. "Have you two figured out a way to hide just how bad this all looks?"

Guillaume tilted his head backwards to glance up at him. "He'll do a bit of window-dressing and a lot of bluffing, but it should tide him over unless there are a lot of pointed questions."

Amedeo leaned down for another kiss, on the mouth this time even if it was upside down. "Excellent. So, do I get to claim my usual reward for doing your number-crunching?"

"We'll negotiate the details," Guillaume said, looking fondly resigned as Amedeo dropped into the chair next to his. "But they weren't my numbers."

"I could ask Andrea."

The noise Guillaume made might have been the polite, well-mannered version of a growl. "Don't even think about it."

Amedeo pretended to consider, then shook his head. "All right, you can make it up to me later. But those were a lot of numbers."

Guillaume said something in what was probably Lëtzebuergesch that sounded exasperated and had Amedeo grinning madly, and the two of them settled into comfortable bickering over outrageous figures and justified demands. And justified they were, if Andrea was any judge - he knew he couldn't have worked it out by himself even if he'd had the facts in the first place. Watching his two friends deal with such a task was highly educational; compared to Wills and Carl, these two were already in the full flow of life as the heir couple, and it showed. Andrea wondered whether they'd consider giving lessons.

"Are you going to be able to handle it tomorrow?" Guillaume asked him later that evening, when they were on the way out for dinner. Wills and Carl's favourite pub, just across the street, and Andrea was still wondering what the owner thought about having those two as regulars (albeit always with two security officers in tow).

Andrea nodded cheerfully and linked his arm with Guillaume's, who just rolled his eyes and stoically bore the indignity. "I'll have you write all my notes from now on."


	3. Chapter 3

***  
 _June 2018_  
***

A few days after what Andrea had privately dubbed Albert's assassination attempt by press conference, he was being all proper and respectable in his office, nose buried in a summary of teams and drivers for the F1 weekend, when a sharp knock at the door announced his mother.

"Good news," she announced without preamble, holding up the official-looking folder in her hand. "Albert finally had to give in."

Andrea eyed the folder cautiously. Official-looking documents never boded well in this family. "Give in to what?"

"He's granting you permission to change your name." His mother sat down in the visitor's chair on the opposite side of his desk and offered him the folder. Andrea took it carefully, not entirely certain whether he wanted to know what this was about, and flipped it open. "High time, too."

Blinking, Andrea stared at the sheets of paper in front of him. "Why?"

"Because he owes you for that press conference. In a few days he'd have found a way to weasel out of that obligation, but right now he cannot deny that you can demand a favour or two of him."

"No, I mean, why change my name?"

His mother gave him the sort of look which in the past had been reserved for questions like why he had to eat broccoli. "Because the House Law says you have to, in order to ever succeed as Prince."

It was a good thing the desk was between them; Andrea felt a lot safer behind all that wood. He'd never in his life feared his mother, but he held a healthy respect for the determination with which she pursued her goals. Obstacles and non-conformities had a tendency to vanish in light of her persistence.

"Only once I actually _am_ Prince," he pointed out. "Unless Albert is about to keel over, that's a while off still."

His mother's expression changed from stern to smug, which was even more worrisome. "I'm working on that," she said.

"Not on making him permanently indisposed, I hope," Andrea said, his tone more teasing than he really felt about it. With their family history, you could never be sure about that sort of thing when it had practically become traditional over the centuries to accelerate the opportunities for succession on occasion.

"As if that were necessary," his mother waved off. "But he'll abdicate, sooner rather than later."

A cold shiver ran down Andrea's spine at that. He'd known that it would come, and most of the time he focused on the simple truth that it was the best for everyone involved. But sometimes he couldn't shake off the thought that his life could be so much simpler without it. Tatiana had it right: he needed to be certain about this, but he just couldn't reach that point, not when he knew that he'd drag her and Stefano into the middle of all that madness.

"That makes you Princess," he said carefully. An idea that was becoming more and more attractive, at least for the coming years. He knew only too well that the longer Albert continued to rule, the greater the problems would become, but to sign over his own life right now to the task of steering Monaco back into calmer seas...

His mother studied him, perfect eyebrows raised. "Andrea, surely you realise that you're going to succeed Albert. And for that, you need to take the first step to position yourself properly and sign this." She put the folder down in front of him, sat back and waited.

He looked at it, then at her. "And what if I don't? What if I say that I want to keep my name? That I want to wait with this until I have to?"

Her expression didn't change. "Waiting," she said simply, "is not an option."

***

That evening at a reception at the Palais Princier, his brother took one look at Andrea and at the earliest opportunity grabbed his arm with one hand and a bottle of Glenfiddich with the other. Then he dragged his prey out onto the terrace and down into the darkness of the Palace gardens, through a few hedges, past the creepy statue of Francesco Grimaldi and a crumbling wooden fence, up onto an old section of the palace wall from back when the Palace had still been a fortress.

"Going to toss me off a cliff, are you?" Andrea asked, looking down at the sea a long drop below them.

Pierre gave an elaborate shrug and sat down cross-legged on the rough stones with no regard whatsoever for his bespoke black suit. "I thought it would be better if no-one overheard," he said, leaning back against a crumbling bit of battlement.

Andrea considered the path they'd just taken, idly picking leaves out of his hair, and sat down as well. "Unlikely. But we'd better hope Mama doesn't catch us, I think her prohibition about coming here is still standing."

"Just don't fall off, or I won't hear the end of it." Pierre uncapped the bottle and took a swig before offering it to Andrea.

"That would really mess with her plans." Andrea glanced down at the waves once more, then settled back as well and took the offered whisky.

"So," Pierre said after a few seconds of comfortable silence, "have you signed yet?"

Eyes narrowed, Andrea looked at him. "And how do you know about that?"

Pierre met his eyes. "I'm the one who suggested it to Mama," he said, reaching up to loosen his black bow tie and undoing the top two buttons of his white dress shirt.

Andrea blinked. "Maybe I should toss you off the cliff after all. _Why_? There's no need for that yet, you know Albert isn't going to make any moves tomorrow or in a year, so what's the point-"

"The point is," Pierre interrupted him, sounding considerably more serious for once than Andrea was used to from him, "that it was an opportunity and we can't afford missing them. You need to move into position so there won't be any doubt that you're the logical heir."

It was sometimes easy to forget that his little brother was just as shrewd in these matters as their mother, and that he'd grown used to wielding considerable influence over the past years already. Pierre might be the embodiment of aristocratic eccentricity at times, but he had a sharp mind and knew how to use it; reason enough for Andrea to be glad that his brother usually supported him.

"So you think I need to do it, too," he said.

Pierre nodded and had another mouthful of Glenfiddich. "Of course I do. Why wouldn't you?"

Drawing up one leg, Andrea wrapped his hands around his bent knee. "I don't like it," he said. "I know the house law says I have to, but it's not like we've ever listened to that anyway. You just need to look at Uncle Albert, he's broken it more than once. And Grandfather changed the constitution a few times to suit himself, just like they did for Great-Grandmother."

"All the more reason to make you look like you'll stick to the law, people are tired of all the arbitrary decisions." Grinning, Pierre waved his hand in a grand swoop. "Imagine it, the first Prince of Monaco in centuries to play by the rules. Within reason."

Andrea sighed. "You really want me to do that, don't you?"

"I don't see the problem with it. So you'll be Andrea Grimaldi, not Andrea Casiraghi. It doesn't change anything apart from your signature, you'll still be you."

He hesitated, not certain how to explain. "I know. I'm just not sure I like losing that connection."

His brother studied him, then held out the bottle to him again. Andrea took it and had a grateful swig. "To the family? You don't think that Charlotte and I are going to ignore you just because we no longer share a surname, right? We'd have to ignore Alexandra for that, too."

"I know, that's not it." He carefully set down the bottle on the flagstones between them. "But I don't want to lose that side of the family."

"Ah." Pierre nodded as though he'd confirmed something, and again silence fell between them.

Andrea watched his brother out of the corner of his eye, then tipped his head back to look up at the sky. Hardly impressive tonight; their surroundings up here on the old fortress wall called for dramatic storm clouds, or a full moon at the very least. That would have been the sort of setting to suit all the important family moments, starting back with Francesco Grimaldi's conquest of Monaco all those centuries ago.

"You know," Pierre said eventually, sounding contemplative, "I can't remember Papa. Charlotte can't either, I think, but I've never wanted to ask her." He sat up straighter and stretched his legs out before him. "You remember him, though, don't you?"

"Bits and pieces." Andrea looked at his brother, the three years between them for once making a much greater difference than usual. "A few days of that summer, at the beach. And we must have been visiting Grandfather, I remember us all on the spiral staircase in the court of honour." The cold marble steps were sharpest in his mind, memory odd as always. "Not as much as I'd like."

Pierre shrugged. "Of course not. But you've got that, so stop worrying about your name. It's not going to make you any less our parents' son. Or my brother."

Picking up on the lighter tone of that last addendum, Andrea quirked an eyebrow. "And here I was thinking I'd finally escape."

His brother grinned at him. "Not a chance. Once a Casiraghi, always a Casiraghi. No matter what you're called."

***

When it came to summer holidays, the family yacht was always a good option, simply because it kept the paparazzi at bay and because it was easy to avoid irritating people. So when his mother had offered it to Andrea for a week, he'd seized the opportunity.

"I'm not sure a week on a boat is such a good idea," Guillaume had tried to wave off when Andrea had suggested the idea to his friends in a phone conference.

There'd been a grumble from Wills and a matching growl from Amedeo, followed by a firm, "You will go, love, and you'll like it."

Guillaume hadn't bothered trying to protest after that.

The good thing about a trip with their friends was that they only had to take the absolutely essential staff along, necessary for steering the yacht and to cater to the security requirements for their precious future King of England. The Luxembourgians didn't seem nearly as concerned; then again, Guillaume was a lot less likely to get himself into trouble and probably considered getting himself kidnapped far too much of an inconvenience on his work schedule to ever allow that to happen.

"Perhaps a cook would have been an idea?" Wills mused in the morning of the second day when he and Andrea were attempting to prepare breakfast together in the galley.

Andrea wrinkled his nose at the pans on the stove top. "No need. All that matters is coffee, the rest is optional."

Wills heaved a sigh. "Continentals," he muttered.

Andrea stuck out his tongue. "Brits," he shot back. "How can you possibly eat fry-ups in the morning?"

Wills frowned at him and pointed at the carton of eggs they'd discovered in the fridge. "I haven't heard Tatiana complain," he said. "And Stefano _likes_ to eat proper breakfasts."

"Stefano ate an earthworm last week and liked it. He's not really developed a discerning palate yet."

Spatula in hand to poke at the bacon rashers in the pan on the back burner, Wills glanced at him curiously. "And you don't mind that he eats worms?"

Andrea shrugged and started to crack the eggs into the bowl Wills shoved at him. "Protein," he said. "Apparently it's a normal stage in infant development."

"I've never eaten a worm."

"There you go then, explains a lot about you."

Wills opened his mouth, shut it again, tried once more, then simply shook his head.

"Oh come on, you're going to be king of a few countries where they don't scoff at that sort of food. Don't tell me your Aussies have never tried to feed you grasshoppers."

"I usually go on state visits, they don't serve that sort of stuff for official occasions." Wills gave the bacon another tentative poke and put on another pan for the eggs.

Andrea smirked. "Tell that to Guillaume, he got to nibble on deep-fried tarantulas in Cambodia last year. You know he's far too conscientious and polite not to give that sort of stuff a try."

Wills made a face at that. "Do you mind? I'm actually planning to have breakfast soon."

"It's not like those critters are anywhere near as disgusting as deep-fried Mars bars." Andrea watched as Wills busied himself scrambling eggs, and dutifully prepared a load of toast. "You realise that you and Carl are going to be the only ones who'll actually eat something, right? Stefano already had breakfast with Tatiana earlier."

Frowning, Wills gave him a slow once-over, and Andrea had to work to hold still under the scrutiny. He knew his friend only meant well, but sometimes it was more than a little weird to have the future ruler of the Commonwealth Realms comment on his lack of sleep or that he needed to remember regular meals. At least he wasn't the only one; Guillaume got a similar lecture every few months, delivered with plenty of disapproving growling. Wills, Andrea had long decided, should have had a lot more siblings to focus all that protective attention on.

They got another taste of the protective Windsor sheep dog mentality a little later, when Wills simply frowned at them all until they'd helped themselves to at least token amounts of royally prepared breakfast, much to Carl's amusement.

"I didn't know eggs could be crunchy," Guillaume cautiously ventured after a minute.

Wills shot him a flat look. "They're supposed to be like that."

"Of course," Tatiana agreed benevolently. Andrea couldn't help noticing that her plate was suspiciously devoid of eggs, a clear sign that even Wills recognised a boundary when he saw it. "They're very nice, I'm sure."

Out of the corner of his eye, Andrea saw Amedeo surreptitiously hide his share of eggs under his toast. Given that the man had spent years at English boarding schools and university and had to be used to the insanity those people called breakfast, it was reason for some concern.

"Very nice," Andrea agreed, struggling to keep his face perfectly serious. He wasn't sure what Wills would do if he found his efforts at feeding his continental peers thwarted; probably not declare war, but with royalty one could never be certain. Sometimes, Andrea wished he could still speak to his grandfather and ask him whether he'd ever struggled with Queen Elizabeth attempting to force-feed him bacon rashers on toast.

The beeping of a cell phone interrupted their peaceful morning and had Wills, Guillaume and Andrea snap to immediate attention and only relax somewhat once they'd figured out it wasn't their phone. Heirs' curse, Andrea thought as he watched Tatiana take the call.

"Alexandra?" he mouthed after a few minutes when the name had been dropped a few times.

Tatiana glanced at him. "Yes, but not yours, Guillaume's," she said before returning her attention to the phone again. "Sorry, girl, had to unravel some male confusion, you know how that goes."

Guillaume looked puzzled, a hand going up to fiddle with the collar of his t-shirt. He'd looked out of sorts ever since his very proper suits had met with what Amedeo claimed had been an unfortunate accident with the shaving cream. "Why is my sister calling your wife?"

Andrea shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not sure I _want_ to know."

They had their answer a minute later, when Tatiana held out her phone to Guillaume and said, "Your sister wants to talk to you."

Guillaume studied her warily for a second before accepting the phone. "Alexandra?" he said, exchanging a quick glance with Amedeo, who to Andrea's eye looked oddly nervous all at a sudden. "Has anything happened?... No, we are still on the boat, why?"

Amedeo definitely looked anxious by now; Wills and Carl had caught on as well and were watching him and Guillaume with growing curiosity, crunchy eggs forgotten. And even Stefano had noticed and was no longer paying attention to the funny food Uncle Wills had come up with.

"Yes, I'm sitting down... You are _what_?"

"Pregnant after all?" Andrea asked Tatiana, sotto voce.

She shook her head. "No, the puking at Bea's wedding was a false alarm."

"Alexandra, I don't... With _Joachim_? But he's... Yes, I realise that, but Amedeo and I are different, that's not... But Alexandra... Of course that's different! For how long has this been going on, a month?... Three _years_?"

"I'm still impressed they managed to keep it quiet," Wills commented. "Given that they've been living together for the last year now. Didn't anyone wonder at that?"

Smirking, Andrea shook his head and watched Guillaume grow constantly more flustered with every second.

"What do you mean, Mama says... Look, I just mean that you should have told us... Amedeo _knows_?!"

Amedeo winced when Guillaume glowered at him at a sudden.

"Alexandra, we need to talk about this... Of course we do! Alexandra? Are you still..." He lowered the phone. "I don't believe it."

"Hung up on you, did she?" Tatiana asked when he passed her cell back to her.

Guillaume slowly shook his head. "I don't..."

"Oh, come on," Carl said, not bothering to hide his amusement at the situation, "it can't come as that much of a shock that your sister and your brother-in-law are having a relationship. You must have seen that one coming, it's not like they were actually hiding it."

Guillaume scowled at him. "And just how do you know?"

"I'm not oblivious, that's all," Carl said calmly. "No need to growl."

Another second of scowling, then Guillaume visibly caught himself. "I apologise," he said stiffly.

Andrea glanced at Carl to gauge his acceptance of that little peace offering, then back at Guillaume. "He's got a point, though, how blind were you that you didn't see that one?"

"They were so harmless," Amedeo tried.

Andrea rolled his eyes. "How often do I have to tell you? With a Habsburg involved, it can't possibly be harmless."

"I'm starting to see your point," Guillaume muttered, earning himself a dark look from his husband. "I just... She's far too young for this!"

Wills snorted. "I doubt your sister would agree to that."

"And besides," Tatiana added, "she's twenty-seven. Which makes her two years older than Amedeo was when you snatched him out of the cradle, by my reckoning."

"That's different!" Guillaume gestured vaguely, apparently at a loss for words.

"Different, how?" Andrea asked. "The only difference I can really see between her and you is that she can cook up a baby with her Habsburg, and you won't manage that with yours." He paused, smirking. "Not for lack of trying, of course."

Guillaume hovered between exasperation and panic. "What if she gets pregnant? Paps won't manage to handle yet another wedding like that." He paused and took a deliberate breath. "Tell me she isn't. Please."

"She took a pregnancy test a few days ago," Amedeo muttered. "That's how she told me, she was waving the damned thing about to make her point."

Guillaume buried his face in his hands with a groan of dismay.

"Relax, that was a false alarm," Tatiana said. "Believe it or not, but not every woman has to be pregnant for her wedding." They all turned to look at her. "I didn't say that applied to me personally."

They spent the rest of the morning working on cheering up Guillaume again and making him forget about his innocent little sister being seduced by a crazy Habsburg. (Andrea really wanted to know where he'd gotten that idea, because _innocent_ really wasn't a word he'd apply to her. Valkyrie-in-training, yes. Innocent, no.) Progress wasn't really evident until Amedeo had enough, grabbed his husband by the scruff of his neck and dragged him off to the yacht's quarterdeck for half an hour for what he claimed was a private chat.

"Do you think he really expects us to believe that?" Carl asked.

Tatiana winked at him and glanced at Stefano, who'd decided that copying Uncle Guillaume's agitation was the thing to do. "You can always go and check on them."

Carl made a face. "No, thanks. Really."

"Oh, I don't know..." Andrea made to get up, but the stern look on Tatiana's face would have kept him in his seat even if he had been serious about his reconnaissance mission. Instead he went to play with Stefano, who was still thrilled to have so many adults around who all showered him with attention. The benefits of godparents who didn't have children on their own and who got to compensate in this way; from the looks of it, Stefano was going to grow up as one of the most cuddled and most doted-upon children of the royal circuit. Andrea certainly wasn't going to complain about that, though he did his best not to dwell too much on the satisfying fact that a number of future monarchs thought his son adorable. It was a political benefit of his friendships within that group, but as always with politics, they got in the way of real relationships when you weren't careful.

Guillaume looked slightly more at ease and considerably more ruffled when he rejoined them, but had at least stopped muttering. He'd also changed down into swimming trunks, finally matching the rest of them.

"It's not that bad," Carl tried to throw him a few reassuring morsels. "You've got twenty-five years' worth of embarrassing stories to tell about Joachim, that's bound to be enough to keep him in line."

"I don't see why you worry about Alexandra, anyway." Amedeo flopped down on one of the deck chairs, careful to stay in the shade. "She's grown up with four brothers, she must know all the dirty tricks in the book. Poor Joachim didn't stand a chance."

"Your poor Joachim despoiled my sister," Guillaume grumbled, but didn't sound entirely serious anymore.

On her own deck chair, Tatiana arched her back in a slow stretch before settling down again. "What makes you so sure it wasn't the other way round?"

Guillaume suddenly looked as though he had images in his head he really didn't want to picture. Andrea watched for a little while, then had mercy on their Hereditary Grand Duke. Getting up, he swooped up Stefano and padded over.

"Look, Uncle Guillaume needs to think happy thoughts and play with you," he said with a cheerful smile, daring Guillaume to protest. "He wants to play with your magic blocks. Show Uncle Guillaume?"

A minute later, Guillaume was dutifully sorting wooden building blocks with Stefano and demonstrating the sort of patience that had to come from years of dealing with pig-headed politicians. Compared to such idiots, it had to be downright relaxing to work on convincing an infant that the green block should go through the green hole and wouldn't fit with the orange one.

"He's good," Tatiana commented, keeping a careful eye on the goings-on.

Amedeo winked at her. "Plenty of practise at home, Anna and Félix are making sure of that. It's a perfect arrangement if you ask me, we get to satisfy all the paternal urges we might have and at the end of the day we can give the kids back when they get cranky."

Guillaume looked ready to give Stefano back too a few minutes later; he brought him over to Tatiana, a solemn expression on his face, and left her to take care of the more down-to-earth aspects in the life of parents everywhere.

"Wills does diaper changes," Andrea pointed out.

"I will gladly concede that he is superior in that aspect."

"And other aspects as well?"

It took more and more these days to push Guillaume to exasperation; a year ago he'd have been rolling his eyes by now, but so far all he did was shrug and play along. "Surely you took that into consideration when you made him godfather," he said, and Andrea had a second of uncertainty whether he was supposed to take that as criticism or not. But Guillaume hadn't shown the slightest hint that he felt left out, and he was good at making his displeasure known in icily polite ways. Right now, he seemed to be downright relaxed, at least by his standards. One of these days, they might actually make him last an entire weekend without fussing over duties and schedules.

And until then, they'd just have to do their best to make him unwind; a few hours on the beach, a casual evening with friends, a day or two on the yacht...

"There are some advantages to countries with access to the sea," Amedeo observed after they'd all come back aboard after an attempt to cool off in the almost too warm waters of the Mediterranean.

"That's why I got myself a viking," Wills said dryly, passing a towel to the man in question. "He can properly appreciate living on an island."

Carl glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "So it was the Swedish seafaring tradition that convinced you about me?"

"Of course."

"I didn't know Carl was particularly good at sailing," Andrea said. "Actually, from what I remember, you're crap at it. You capsized when there wasn't even any wind."

"He's got redeeming values," Wills said serenely.

Andrea looked at him, eyebrows waggling. "Does he, now? Care to demonstrate?"

The only reply was a well-practised tug that brought a laughing Carl snugly against his husband's side. Andrea wondered whether he'd tire of those gestures one day, but so far he didn't seem to mind that Wills occasionally needed to demonstrate to himself and the world that Carl belonged with him. With the sort of trouble Charles still gave them, it wasn't as though Wills could be blamed for wanting that bit of confirmation, and it wasn't as though anyone here minded. Even Guillaume was so used to the sight of public displays of affection from those two by now that he barely batted an eye at it.

Now if only they could get him used to a few other sights as well without risking him having an apoplexy, Andrea thought absently as he changed into dry shorts after a swim a little later. There simply was no point in fiddling with towels or vanishing below-decks for this, in his opinion, but not everybody shared that conviction.

"Do you _mind_?" Guillaume asked sharply, doing his best to keep his eyes focused on Andrea's face and not an inch lower.

Hands on his hips, Andrea turned to face him, accompanied by a wolf whistle from a grinning Amedeo. "Oh please, as though I have anything you don't. Or your husband, for that matter. You do get to see each other naked on occasion, right?"

Guillaume muttered something incomprehensible. Over on the other side of the deck, Wills merely raised an eyebrow at the display, while Carl shrugged, then caught Andrea's eye and winked.

"Do I want to know what you are up to?" Tatiana asked, giving him a once over when she came back with Stefano and gave him a curious once-over.

"Just changing my swimming trunks."

"And harassing bystanders," Guillaume grumbled. "Can't you at least turn around?"

"Prefer the rear view, do you?" Andrea shot back as he pulled up his dry shorts. 

"This is... I don't..." Trailing off, Guillaume heaved a sigh and buried his face in his hands. "You're doing this on purpose."

Andrea grinned at him. "Of course I am."

***  
 _November 2018_  
***

Judging by the icy glares Pierre was throwing him across the crowded theatre foyer, Andrea was going to pay for dumping their aunt-by-marriage on him for the reception before the play. But when the choice was between having the woman hang on to him for an hour, all gleeful arrogance at being photographed in her monstrous mud-grey dress that was tight and revealing in all the wrong places, and Pierre glowering at him, then Andrea would take the glowering any time.

He wasn't sure why she had bothered to turn up this evening at all. Theatre was hardly her forte, and Albert wasn't present either so there was no reason for her to actually have remembered her duties for once and accompany her husband. There had to be a hidden agenda behind it all; either that or she'd missed the attention and people bowing to her, even if they did so because they had to and not because they genuinely respected her.

"You'd better apologise to Pierre," Tatiana told him when he offered her his arm. In sharp contrast to his aunt-by-marriage, she looked amazing in her long, flowing dress, a splash of deep red against the boring, dark backdrop of everyone else. "I think he was sure you'd ask Alexandra to come along as well."

Andrea had, in fact, suggested to their younger sister that the evening's entertainment might be a good idea to make an appearance as part of Monaco's ruling family. Alexandra had listened, asked what they'd be seeing, and then promptly turned around and fled. She'd been halfway across the border by the time Andrea had figured out that she wasn't coming back from the bathroom.

"She changed her mind," he said. "Perhaps for the best, she might get ideas."

Tatiana chuckled and leaned on his arm as they slowly climbed the wide stairs, led by a pair of eager attendants. "From _Macbeth_?"

"You never know. I'd rather not find out, she's starting to take an interest in politics." Which was downright frightening with their sort of family background. Andrea had resigned himself to become Prince of Monaco eventually, but he was starting to suspect he'd have to take into account the possibility of his little sister as an active player as well. Fortunately, she was firmly on his side so far. With her irresistible wide-eyed puppy look, she was impossible to deny whenever she wanted to have her way.

"Just be careful if you ever find her predicting the future while brewing potions."

Andrea quirked an eyebrow at her inquisitively. "I don't think a single witch would be reason for concern."

"Charlotte and I will help. It could be fun, actually. We should get a cauldron and some eye of newt."

Ahead of them, the attendant on Tatiana's side was gradually failing in her battle to suppress her giggles.

"I'll find you a cauldron if you promise not to bother with the more esoteric ingredients," Andrea tried.

Tatiana pouted at him. "Where's the fun in that? I'm sure your ancestors had a more tolerant view on the matter."

Given that those ancestors who hadn't been Habsburgs and therefore crazy by default had instead been Grimaldis and known for their occasional trouble with - and dabbling in - witchcraft, Andrea couldn't argue the point. He resolved to be careful about leftovers in the fridge for the coming weeks.

Most of the seats were already occupied by the time they stepped into the box reserved for the princely family; moments later, Pierre and his smug-looking companion for the evening arrived as well. It rankled to observe protocol and wait for Albert's wife to choose her seat first, but by now Andrea was far too used to her little mind games to let them get to him. By his side, Tatiana murmured something accurate but highly unflattering in Spanish, and he barely managed to turn his laugh into a cough. Over the top of their aunt-by-marriage's head, Pierre shot him a glance that was half shared amusement, half frustrated irritation with the woman; then the lights went out and they focused their attention on the stage.

Matters were just getting murderous in Scotland when to Andrea's right, Albert's wife leaned back in her chair and said, "I know what you're up to."

He blinked. "Do you, now," he answered and hoped she'd share her epiphany because he had no idea what she was talking about but could hardly admit that.

"You won't get rid of us that easily, you and your bitch of a mother."

To her other side, Andrea saw Pierre tense and straighten up in the semi-darkness.

"I suggest," he said coolly," that you are careful how you speak of her, _Madame_."

"Who cares. I know what you're doing and I'm telling you now that you won't pull it off. You're not going to sit on the throne while I'm there."

Andrea snorted, eyes still carefully fixed on the stage, where Macbeth was currently dithering. "Given that I'm not going to marry you, you'll be off that throne as soon as Uncle Albert steps down," he said. "You know as well as I do that's going to happen."

"Never. Albie isn't going to give up just like that, not for you. He knows that's exactly what you want." Her face stayed impressively unperturbed, though that might have been due to all the botox and the sheer inability to twitch a muscle.

Tatiana's hand tightened on his knee, a much-needed anchor, and Andrea resisted the impulse to brush his fingers across hers. "What I want, Madame, is for Albert to do his job well enough that I don't have to take the throne in the first place, but I'm not holding my breath."

"I'll tell him you said that," she hissed. "That you think he's bad at his job."

Andrea rolled his eyes. Depending on Albert's paranoia on any given day, he already thought much worse of the other members of his family without his wife confirming his opinions. "Go ahead, see if it makes a difference."

"It will. Just you wait, he'll kick you out. He'll figure out that you're just after his throne and that you want to get rid of him, and then you'll be gone."

"And then what?" Andrea drawled. "You'll remove Pierre from the line of succession? And Charlotte and Alexandra as well? Interesting plan, Madame, but I think people might just start to wonder." He smirked and leaned towards her. "A suggestion, if I may. Shakespearean methods only work on the stage, in case you were planning on dribbling poison into anyone's ears."

She huffed and shifted away from him, further towards Pierre. "You'll be gone. I won't let you on the throne. We'll change the succession before you get to call yourself Prince."

Over her shoulder, Andrea saw Pierre's eyes narrow as he listened, all pretense of following the play forgotten. It was a good thing the performance wasn't being filmed, or they might have created a video document for the ages of members of the Princely family glaring daggers at each other. The frosty atmosphere last week at the National Day parade had been enough in that regard already, and all but the Monegasque media had remarked upon it.

"Change the succession to whom?" Andrea asked, giving her a very deliberate, lazy smile. "Yourself?"

Her sudden silence spoke volumes.

"Oh please. How is that supposed to work? Have you ever even looked at the constitution?"

"Albie is Prince, he can change the law," she insisted petulantly.

"Technically correct, but if he tries that, he'll get booted out of the country by all those citizens who care enough to be bothered, and you with him. Actually, they might simply get rid of you and keep him around, they seem to like him at least a little bit." But there certainly was no love lost among the Monegasques for their current Princess; she might have fooled Albert, but the people had seen right through her from the start. And she'd known it, too, or she'd have tried to gain their faith and trust rather than make it obvious from the beginning that she couldn't care less about the country. The only way she could have made certain to stay would have been a child, and that...

Well. The birth control pills in her coffee probably had something to do with that, though Andrea suspected that even if she'd managed to fall pregnant, Albert probably wouldn't have had much to do with it. No reigning house in their right mind did paternity tests on their offspring (Andrea could think of at least two who'd have to give a few awkward explanations in that case), but the Grimaldis would have been the exception to the rule, simply because there was no way Andrea's mother would have stood by and kept silent.

"I'm staying, Albie's going to make sure of that. He knows what's best for him."

Andrea raised an eyebrow at her. "Of course," he said, not bothering to hide his smirk.

"He knows what I know. You should keep that in mind, too. I know all sorts of things about Monaco and about your family and you really don't want me to mention them to anyone else, so be nice to me." She paused and gave him a calculating once-over. "Or I'll talk about what you do with your royal friends."

Before Andrea could do more than blink, Pierre leaned forward. "You won't," his brother said, his voice pleasant. "Because if you even look as if you think about crossing that line, you'll regret it. So you know a bit of gossip. Well, my dear, two can play that game and you don't want to find out what I have on you."

Their aunt-by-marriage suddenly looked nervous as she hunched back in her seat and tried to keep both of them in her field of vision. "You've got nothing."

"Do you want to risk it?" Pierre asked, turning towards her with his right arm resting on the balustrade in front of their seats, the very image of a young gentleman having a pleasant conversation. "But maybe you're right, perhaps I don't have anything to blackmail you with. Then again, I don't actually need that, do I? I can just arrange for you to find out exactly what happened to some of your flunkies. Like Monsieur Corey, for example." He paused. "Such a shame, you two got along so nicely and you were almost ready to try your little conspiracy about those Russian friends of his. Have you ever wondered where he went?"

Albert's wife didn't say a word for the rest of the play, and vanished during the last act without offering even a token explanation.

"Who's Monsieur Corey?" Andrea asked when he, Tatiana and Pierre were in the limousine that would take them back to their apartments afterwards.

The expression on Pierre's face was entirely blank. "Don't ask," his brother said, his voice a tone Andrea couldn't recall hearing from him before, all cool and flat. "And don't ask what happened to him, either. It's better for everyone if you don't know, trust me on that."

***  
 _February 2019_  
***

They spent the winter dancing around the succession issue, with nobody wanting the risk of the first move.

It made sense for Albert, naturally. He was the only one who'd never be affected by it if he simply waited it out; he could reign until the end of his life and just decide to let people work it out after his death. On paper the succession was clear, he was Prince and nobody was about to seriously dispute that, and as long as he was willing to let Monaco slide back into relative obscurity on a lower economic level, it hardly made a difference. They'd muddled along for eight centuries, long enough that the few decades of glamour and glory under the reign of Prince Rainier and Princess Grace could just have been a fluke of history.

There had been a few attempts to make Albert legitimise one of his already existing children over the winter; more than one mother had ambitions and not all of them were content with a mere financial settlement. Andrea wondered if any of them spared a thought for their sons and daughters, who'd be eaten alive in the madhouse that was Monaco. He'd never gotten to meet his cousins, and he could only hope for their sake that they'd stay away. They had no idea what they'd be getting themselves into when it could be overwhelming even for those who'd grown up in the middle of all this insanity.

It was that knowledge of intrigues and power games that made him and Tatiana work even harder than before on keeping Stefano away from it all for as long as they could. One day, Andrea would have to make a decisive move after all the more subtle positioning he'd done during the past years, with Pierre and their mother behind him. But that move would cost him, and it would cost Stefano. It was weighing the need of Monaco to have a competent ruler against the price he and his family would pay that gave him sleepless nights these days.

"You need to stop brooding," Tatiana told him during one of those times when the idea of what was looming in his future had driven him out of bed and out onto the balcony of their apartment again. "It doesn't suit you at all."

He glanced at her and raised his arm in a silent offer, smiling when she accepted the invitation and pressed against his side. "I won't tell anyone if you don't."

"Better not, or your reputation is going to be ruined. People might think you're being all serious and grown-up, and then where would you be?"

"On Albert's throne, probably," he murmured into her dark hair. "I keep hoping I'll manage to fool them just a little bit longer."

She laughed, her hand coming up to pet the nape of his neck, and he almost purred as he leaned into the touch. "You simply need to make it plain from the start that you're the one making the rules."

"And what if they don't want to play under those conditions?"

"Then," Tatiana said, her fingers briefly tugging at the strands of his hair, "you send them to me. I'll make sure they behave themselves."

He nuzzled at her jawline until she turned away with a low chuckle. "They'd better fear you."

"Oh yes," she agreed. "I can make Stefano eat his spinach without protest, a few stubborn adults are nothing compared to that."

Andrea, who regularly ended up covered in vegetables whenever he tried to convince his son of the benefits of vitamins in a balanced diet, hummed in agreement. Politicians were definitely easier to handle. They didn't throw peas at you.

"So, are you planning to stay out here for the rest of the night?" she asked him after a few minutes spent in comfortable silence. "Because if you do, I'll get you a blanket so you won't freeze." She paused before continuing in a lighter tone, "After all, you snore when you catch a cold."

He nipped at the tip of her ear. "And here I thought you were concerned about me."

She sighed and slipped her arm around him. "Always."

It was hard to know what to say in reply, so Andrea stayed silent and kissed her instead, slow and thorough. He was only too aware that he'd given her far too much reason, far too often, to be worried about him over the years and that it wasn't about to end. 

"I love you," he told her, winding his arms around her to draw her in.

She settled against him. "I love you too. But you're worrying me; any more sleepless nights and..."

He cocked his head. "And what?"

"And I might just have to remove the reason for all that brooding. You're keeping me from getting my beauty sleep with the constant tossing and turning." She kissed the tip of his nose, then ducked her head when he attempted to claim her mouth and gave him a teasing peck to the cheek instead. "This is the point where you tell me I need no such thing as beauty sleep, in case you missed it."

"You need no such thing-" Andrea began dutifully and yelped when she poked his side. "Ouch."

Tatiana gave him a mock scowl. "You deserve it."

Andrea did his best to look contrite. "Naturally," he said, and almost managed to keep himself from grinning. "You know, if you really want to find ways to keep me from tossing and turning in bed..."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Don't stop there, that was just beginning to sound interesting. Got a suggestion, do you?"

He smirked. "I might have."

"Well then, by all means let's discuss it."

They both automatically paused and listened for the sound of an infant demanding parental attention; sometimes Andrea was convinced that Stefano had a sixth sense where these matters were concerned. Their son had impeccable timing when it came to interrupting his parents whenever they were just beginning to get up to something interesting. If it continued in this vein, the peanut would grow up to be an only child for sure. Another second of anticipatory listening, then Tatiana breathed a quiet sigh and pushed against him, warm and soft and so very, very tempting.

He still ended up tossing and turning in bed that night, though for far more entertaining and pleasurable reasons than before. And afterwards, Tatiana tucked against his side, his face buried in her hair and her fingers trailing lazy circles on his chest, Andrea spared no thought to his worries as he drifted off to sleep.

***  
 _May 2019_  
***

The Grand Prix of Monaco was the sort of event only maniacs could enjoy. At first glance it looked like fun: a week of partying, plenty of opportunities to have fun with friends and meet up with people who only stopped by a few times a year, lots of interesting people around and enough celebrities, real and wannabe, populating the streets to keep the paparazzi in a state of permanent bliss and entirely uninterested in Monaco's year-long residents. Nobody was interested in pictures of Andrea and Tatiana beyond the token shot or two when there were photos of half of Hollywood to be had.

No, the Grand Prix brought plenty of amusement, but it came at the price of ear-splitting noise at insane hours of the day. First the whole principality was transformed into a construction zone for four weeks to set up the course, then thoroughbred engines roared all day long (not fun at all when Andrea hardly ever saw his bed before sunrise during that week) and by the time the engines were quiet again, the track had to be cleaned and repaired amidst even more racket.

"I'm looking forward to the day they finally switch to electric engines," he told Carl on the final day of the Grand Prix weekend in one of the rare gaps between the deafening bellows of engines and squealing tires. Down below them on what was Boulevard Albert I under normal circumstances, colourful race cars were beginning to line up but still had their engines mercifully shut off.

Carl shot him a thoroughly scandalised look. "Where's the fun in that?" he asked, eyes back on the track again after a second.

"It's quieter? The place won't smell of petrol for the next two weeks?" Andrea had to smirk at the disbelieving expression in his friend's eyes. "You try living on a race track."

"Wrong argument," Wills told him dryly. "He would if I let him."

Andrea sighed. "How could I forget? The car-crazed prince consort."

"More crazed about cars right now than about the prince he's consorting with." Wills gave his husband a light poke to the shoulder and only received a distracted glance in return before Carl's attention snapped back to the goings-on below. It wasn't even as though there was anything happening; the most interesting activity Andrea could spot was a pair of men pulling a trolley with tires along.

"It's not like it's anything new," Andrea told him. "But if you're feeling neglected, I'll be happy to keep you entertained while Carl has happy thoughts about spark plugs."

"Don't even think about it," Wills growled, but sounded more playful than serious. He and Carl had been in good spirits ever since they'd arrived three days ago - just in time for the Thursday training session - and so far, the mood had held. It helped that Carl was practically quivering with excitement every time he heard the roar of an engine and that after almost a decade of visiting Monaco for the Grand Prix, Wills was used to his husband's antics.

Andrea cocked his head. "Not feeling neglected, are you?" he teased back. "He isn't sleeping in the garage?"

"I let him have a few minutes with the Porsche every evening, that's got to be enough."

Eyebrows waggling suggestively, Andrea didn't bother to even try and hide his smirk. "Enough for what? To get him in the right mood? Do I need to start looking for petrol-scented toys?"

The cough Wills suddenly developed might have hidden a laugh, but it was drowned out by an engine kicking in down on the street, and for the next three hours there was no way they could have held any sort of conversation even if they hadn't all been wearing noise-cancelling headphones.

For Andrea and Wills it was mostly a matter of being patient and falling back on their everyday experience with holding still and looking interested. Car races were fun in general, but when it took an hour to get the whole thing under way, and then another two hours to determine a winner, it was simply too long to be entertaining. Most of Andrea's family shared that idea; his sisters had abandoned the royal box for quieter shores soon after the start, and their mother and Tatiana had gone with them. Pierre had stayed, but had that dreamy look in his eyes that said he was plotting some new insanity and was not paying much attention to what was going on around him. Given that the last thing he had come up with had been a dog sled trip to the South Pole with Harry, Andrea was not sure he wanted to find out what his brother was up to this time.

Carl, of course, was visibly enjoying every minute of the race. He was up front at the banister, quivering with excitement as he stood straight to get the best view of the street and the video wall opposite from them.

"You need to get a Grand Prix in England again!" Andrea shouted at Wills at one point.

Wills blinked at him. "What?"

"Grand Prix! England!" He gestured at their Swedish prince, who was still occasionally labelled the Duke of Vroomland by the press whenever they caught him in a motoring context. "Happy Carl!"

A second to put it together, then Wills grinned. "Next year! We're almost done negotiating!"

Someone else who thoroughly loved all the noise, the shiny colours and the bustle of people was Stefano. He'd refused to let go of his ear muffs even when they'd gone in for lunch, and cheerfully let Carl hold him up so he could see the race cars zoom by, babbling with excitement. With some luck he'd have forgotten about it all in a day or two, but Andrea had the uneasy suspicion that Uncle Carl might have found a willing little student here. He hadn't known anything so far that could hold Stefano's attention for more than a minute or two, especially things he couldn't grab or chew on, but the noisy chaos of the Grand Prix obviously held a special appeal for little Grimaldi peanuts.

Andrea made a mental note to talk to Carl and remind him that Stefano was not to be taught about car racing anytime soon. It was bad enough that Carl had corrupted Harry and even Amedeo to think of the occasional day on the track as fun, but those two were adults and crazy anyway. His boy, Andrea had long decided, was going to be more sensible.

At the point when enough people had crashed into the barriers, a few more had crashed into each other and enough laps had been driven through Monaco's streets to give the tarmac a thorough coating of burnt tire rubber, the noise finally stopped and the race was over. Andrea breathed an inward sigh of relief and took off his ear protectors just in time to hear Stefano begin to wail when the shiny cars no longer flitted about.

Carl was suspiciously quick to pass the boy on to him. He'd also kept his ear muffs on for now in what could hardly be a mere oversight. Then Andrea had an armful of crying, squiggling boy and no more attention to spare for Carl and his treacherous ways.

"There's no need to cry," he murmured, cuddling Stefano close. "The cars will be back."

Stefano sniffled, but calmed down to some extent. "Cars bye bye," he declared.

Andrea nodded solemnly. "Yes, cars bye bye," he agreed. "But next year they'll come again."

That earned him a hopeful look from wide brown eyes, and Stefano leaned away from him at a sudden, craning his neck to see whether the cars were back again down on the street. "Now?"

Belatedly, Andrea remembered that temporal concepts were not entirely Stefano's forte yet. "Later," he tried, but it was too late to keep Stefano from making his displeasure with that information known in ways that were impossible to miss.

He suddenly realised that in a minute at most, a handful of racing drivers would come up into the royal box to get their prizes.

"Uncle Carl will show you the cars tonight," he attempted.

Stefano hitched a breath between two heart-breaking wails. "Cars?"

"We'll look at them together," he promised. "You can sit in one." Surely that could be arranged somehow; Stefano was going to be a Prince of Monaco one day, and as long as Andrea made sure he didn't push any buttons or tried to chew on the steering wheel, it should be all right.

"Cars," Stefano said, satisfaction evident in his voice, and snuggled close again, small head tucked under Andrea's chin. For a moment, the world was just perfect even with all the cars and petrol fumes around.

Then Andrea saw the winning driver get out of his car and prepare to come up the steps and receive his prize, and realised with regret that cuddling his peanut would have to wait until he'd dealt with official tasks. He still hadn't figured out why Albert had run off this time; the Grand Prix had always been one of the duties he'd actually seemed to enjoy. But his uncle was nowhere to be seen, and the remaining family had unanimously voted that Andrea should hand out the trophies instead. Or rather, the women had agreed on it and Andrea and Pierre had been far too smart to protest that decision.

"Mind taking your godson for a moment?" he asked with a glance at Wills.

"Sure, go be princely, we'll keep an eye on him until you're finished here."

"I owe you one, the rest of the day is going to be insane and if we don't have to worry about him..." They could have left Stefano at home under the care of his nanny, but he always got so excited about having his Anglo-Swedish uncles visiting that it was simply easier to let him come along rather than deal with the temper tantrums. It wasn't as if Andrea could blame him for enjoying their company, after all.

Wills held out his arms. "Want us to watch him until tonight?"

Andrea shot his friend a look of pure gratitude as he attempted to pry Stefano loose. "You would? See, that's why I like you far, far more than Guillaume. He never offers."

"Scared of being alone with any Grimaldi, even a miniature one?" Wills asked, waiting patiently for Stefano to finally decide to let go rather than cling to Andrea's shirt.

"Oh, you know what he's like. I merely hinted that Tatiana and I would appreciate it if he could keep an eye on the peanut for us for a few hours because we hadn't managed to have any actual couple time for months. All he said was that he wasn't about to facilitate further Grimaldi reproduction and that we'd better find someone else to enable our marital relations. All this with that formal tone he manages when something really rubs him the wrong way."

Wills grinned and reached out to gently run his hand over Stefano's downy hair. "What did you expect? He's probably still trying to come to terms with the idea that you and Tatiana have a love life. Or Carl and I, for that matter."

Andrea snorted. "You two have one. Tatiana and I... Do you have any idea what toddlers do to your sex life?"

Wills shot him a dry look. "The advantage of marrying Carl," he said.

Carl cocked his head. "Not the only one, I hope. Come on, give me the peanut or you'll end up passing him on as a trophy for the winner."

Andrea tried again, but all he got for his efforts was a whine, followed by an ear-splitting shriek when Stefano voiced his objection. With growing nervousness, Andrea noted that the three first-ranked drivers were already coming up the steps. "Stefano, please... Look, Uncle Carl wants to go look at the cars with you."

Even that dirty trick didn't work. Stefano buried his face against Andrea's neck and clung to his shirt collar and tie with all the strength in his little hands.

"Monsieur Grimaldi!" The organising assistant in charge of the trophy ceremony urgently gestured for him to get ready. Andrea shot her a helpless look when Stefano again gave a warning little whine at his attempt to pry him loose. Pierre could have taken over, but his brother wasn't anywhere within earshot to come to the rescue.

The drivers climbed the stairs up into the royal box, looking briefly confused when Andrea came to greet them, Stefano clinging to him like a limpet. This was going to end up in the press, he knew; the sports magazines wouldn't care, but there'd be far too many gushing articles in the women's zines about blue-blooded fathers and their children. It would be interesting to see whether he'd be listed as exemplary or catastrophic.

Probably catastrophic, he realised when he tried to take the trophy for the winning driver the assistant was holding out to him. For a scary second he thought he'd drop it, or worse, drop Stefano; then Carl was by his side and carried the trophy for him.

Who cared what the press came up with, Andrea thought as he gratefully let Carl hand over the awards for him and listened to his friend cheerfully exchange a few quick words with the drivers. They'd better get used to the fact that the Grimaldis occasionally did things a little differently.

***  
 _September 2019_  
***

Andrea was in the middle of a supposedly work luncheon with Albert and a handful of flunkies (the only work aspect being the effort it took to keep his expression one of pleasant interest while trying not to roll his eyes too much at their antics) when a phone call mercifully saved him.

"My apologies," he drawled, choosing to ignore Albert's irritated glance as he got up. "His Imperial and Royal Highness. I should take this. We've been discussing investment options."

Albert immediately looked placated, so Andrea figured he didn't need to mention that the investments in question had concerned a few half-serious musings regarding sex toy manufacturers and the way Andrea and his little packages kept them in business these days. "Of course. Do whatever you have to please the man."

Andrea quirked an eyebrow. "Kinky," he murmured, phone by his ear already.

"What is?" Amedeo wanted to know. "Want me to call later once the kinky bits are over?"

"Your Imperial and Royal Highness, I would never dream of that," Andrea answered in his best serious voice. "You may call at any time, it is never an inconvenience."

"That's the right attitude," Amedeo praised. "Am I interrupting something?"

"A meeting with the Prince and his esteemed advisers, but they have graciously agreed to do without my meagre little self for now."

Amedeo snorted. "In other words, you're bored out of your mind? Well, go on then, give them an excuse and get out of there."

"If it pleases your Imperial and Royal Highness," Andrea murmured demurely. "Uncle Albert? He's asking me to explain the benefits of Monaco's meteorological phenomenon to him. He has heard about our excellent climate and the high opinion doctors have of its influence on the psyche, especially when combined with sodium chloride and dihydrogen monoxide. Oh, and the silica particles, of course."

To his credit, Albert did look confused at that, and it was a struggle to keep a straight face with Amedeo snickering in his ear, "You want to explain to me that sun, sea and sand are nice?"

"Naturally," Andrea agreed and stepped away from the table and outside onto the street. It was hardly more private, but he cared less about random bystanders than about his uncle and the flunkies when it came to having his phone calls overheard. "Unless you've got other reasons to call?"

He thought he heard Amedeo sigh. "Just looking for some distraction," his friend said. "There's a gaggle of press people outside the Palace and I don't want to deal with them."

"Why are you under siege from the press? Have I missed something?"

This time Amedeo definitely sighed. "No, we've just had a rumour going around that Alexandra and Joachim are getting married, and now the reporters are jumping at every opportunity to get a family member in front of a microphone."

"Well?"

"Nothing to tell, it's just a rumour, nothing more. Joachim's working up his nerve, I think, but it's going to take a while still until he's brave enough to pop the question."

Andrea sidestepped a crack in the pavement and turned his head to keep the sun from blinding him. "So tell them that. Or have Guillaume tell them, why else do you keep him around? He's good at staying polite when people are annoying him, I can vouch for that."

"I'd send him out if he were around, but I haven't seen him for a week. He's just called his assistant that he'll be delayed until tomorrow."

And there was the core of the problem, Andrea figured. He should have guessed. "Where's he stuck this time?"

"Barcelona," Amedeo grumbled. "Promoting Luxembourg as a trade partner. And I get that he has to do that and that it means he's travelling a lot and that I can't always come along because I've got my own schedule and my own projects, but damn it, there are sane workloads and there's what he's been doing. I'm bloody sick of not getting to even talk to him in person for days. Do you have any idea how often he's been sleeping in the office lately? And it's not because he's avoiding me, it's because he can't seem to get it into his thick skull that he's allowed to have a private life! The way this is running, I don't get why the hell we bothered with going public, I'm seeing less of him than I did when we were still going behind everyone's back. He's running himself into the ground, just because he's too pig-headed to admit to himself that he needs a fucking break on occasion. I can't keep dragging him away from work whenever it gets too much, never mind that it's for his own damned good."

Occasionally humming in wordless agreement, Andrea let him rant and waited for him to run out of steam. Across the street, he could see Albert and the flunkies through the window of the restaurant. They didn't look as though they missed him.

"You know what's worst?" Amedeo went on. "He doesn't see that it's a problem. He'll admit to being exhausted but all he'll do is streamline his schedule so he gets another hour of sleep here and there, and he thinks he can keep that up infinitely. And I'm supposed to sit by and watch? I'll be damned if I do that, but there isn't even time anymore to talk to him because when he actually manages to come home for once, he's so worn out that I'm hardly going to keep him awake longer than absolutely necessary."

"That bad?" Andrea murmured when something more than agreeable humming seemed required of him.

"I got to scrape him off the floor of the shower last week because he fell asleep on his feet," Amedeo went on. "Literally. Bloody hell, I worry but I can't get him to see that, and I'm fucking tired of it all and now he isn't even coming home when I was counting on getting him to sit still for two days." His friend heaved a sigh. "He's going to seriously harm himself one of these days and I have no idea how to prevent that. Aside from chaining him to the bed, but that could be hard to explain to Uncle Henri."

That last attempt at levity sounded more than a little forced, and Andrea didn't even bother pretending that he'd been fooled. The swearwords alone were enough of a giveaway that his friend was seriously rattled; Amedeo normally was far too well-mannered to resort to that sort of language.

"Can you fly to Spain and collect him? The press is going to claim you're so lovestruck you can't spend a day without him, but it's not like that sort of news has ever hurt anyone as long as you make sure they see you assisting him in some way over there."

"I already suggested that," Amedeo grumbled. "He says not to bother and that he won't have the time to let himself be distracted. Distracted! As though I'm not perfectly capable of behaving myself! But if he doesn't want to be _distracted_ then I'll of course not do anything that can be construed to be an obstacle to his precious work performance."

Rolling his eyes at Nassau workaholism and the corresponding Habsburg irritation, Andrea turned back towards the restaurant. "Tell you what," he said. "You get yourself on the afternoon flight to Nice. I'll pick you up at the airport, you'll stay with Tatiana, the peanut and me for the night, and we'll figure out a way to beat some sense into your husband."

Four hours later, he had a pissed-off archduke on his sofa who was complaining about his husband while Tatiana was petting him amidst understanding murmurs. It was the sort of setting that made Andrea feel uneasy deep down. It was never a good sign when an irate consort made sense to other consorts, because that usually meant the heirs were in trouble. Andrea might have behaved himself lately, but that didn't mean Tatiana wouldn't compare him to Guillaume and see whether he, too, was showing signs of the same stupidity.

"... and once, just once I'd like to see him put his own needs first," Amedeo fumed in rapid-fire Spanish, dutifully remembering to stick to the language rules around Stefano even in light of his current mood. "If he goes on like that, he'll follow Uncle Henri's example and fall over with a heart attack in the next ten years. You'd think he'd learn but no, of course not! He's too fucking dutiful for that."

"Watch it," Tatiana admonished sternly with a glance at Stefano cuddled in her lap.

Ducking his head, Amedeo shot her an apologetic smile. "Sorry. But why can't he show at least a modicum of self-preservation? He's berating me for doing too much, but my task list is not half as long as his and I have something not too far beyond to a normal workload. What is this, an inability to admit that he has limits?"

Tatiana shrugged. "Something he shares with Wills," she said, tickling Stefano's belly to keep him occupied. "You've heard?"

"About that helicopter accident? I called Carl, but he wasn't exactly eager to talk about it." Amedeo pinched the bridge of his nose, frowned, then firmly folded his arms. "How bad is it? Do you know?"

Andrea hesitated, still not comfortable with the entire situation. He didn't want to think too much about what could really have happened to Wills if his friend had been just a little less lucky. "Second degree burns along his right arm, but no lasting damage, scars aside. They've visited last weekend, and he seemed fine as long as he was careful and didn't make stupid moves."

Amedeo cocked his head. "That sounds a whole lot more reassuring than what the papers are coming up with," he said. "The tabloids sound convinced that he's been on the brink of death."

"Not quite that bad, but he got himself hurt." Wrapping his arms around himself, Andrea frowned. "Think we should sit him and Guillaume down together and give them a speech on why they need to take care of themselves?"

"That's a thought," Amedeo agreed. "Normally I'd ask Wills to bang some sense into Guillaume's head, but right now he's not in any shape to do that." He gave Tatiana a speculative glance. "You wouldn't consider filling in, would you?"

She blinked. "Why me?"

"You can be scary?" Amedeo suggested, the hint of a smile on his face. "He knows you and he respects you, and he's too polite not to at least listen when you've got something to say."

Tatiana leaned forward to pat his arm. "I can give it a try if you want. He's not doing that with you?"

"All I get when I bring up this topic is that long-suffering look and a few off-hand comments on how he knows what he's doing. Which I seriously doubt, because what he's doing is downright lunatic. He's ruining his health, he's ruining his peace of mind, he's ruining _my_ peace of mind and I just don't know anymore what to do about it. I'm not the only one who's seeing that he's headed for either burn-out or a physical breakdown from sheer exhaustion, but he won't believe me, he won't believe his mother, and I'm at a loss for what to do by now." Again he pinched the bridge of his nose, caught himself at it and turned the gesture into a quick run of his hand through his tousled hair that did nothing to smooth down that unruly brown mop. "I just... I see him come closer and closer to that crash and burn and I can't figure out what to do about it or how to fu-" he caught himself just in time, hands fidgeting in his lap, "how the heck to make him see reason because he simply won't listen."

Tatiana exchanged a quick glance with Andrea, who suspected he was supposed to read more into it than he actually did. Then she lifted Stefano and passed him over to Amedeo. "You stay with Uncle Amedeo for a bit," she told the boy. "Show him your train set? The one from Uncle Wills and Uncle Carl?"

Stefano nodded decisively and wriggled in Amedeo's arms, straining to get down. "Play train!" he shouted with the enthusiasm only two-year-olds could manage, leaning forward in what Andrea recognised as a clear demand to be set on his feet. Ever since the boy had learned to run, days had become a lot more exciting, occasionally in scary fashions.

"Go play for a minute, it's a great way to cheer up," Tatiana told Amedeo, making shooing motions with her hands. "Andrea and I will see about drinks, you look like you could use one."

Andrea obediently followed her into the kitchen and fetched glasses as directed. For a minute, Tatiana was busy inspecting the fridge and freezer for palatable bottles, pulled a few of them out, then turned around and leaned against the counter. "Are you sure we can't get Wills to deal with this? Amedeo isn't going to be able to handle it by himself this time and I don't even know where to start."

"Kidnapping Guillaume might be an idea," Andrea suggested. "If we abandon him on Charlotte's island, he'll be forced to relax for as long as we leave him there."

"Give him a day and he'll build a raft to escape," Tatiana said. "I actually admire Amedeo's patience. If you were as pig-headed as Guillaume, I'd have kicked some sense into you years ago."

Stepping closer, Andrea nuzzled the crook of her neck. "And I'd be grateful," he whispered in her ear, kissing her cheek before leaning back to look her in the eye. "So what do we do?"

"Aside from getting him drunk so he'll finally calm down?" Tatiana shrugged. "I have no idea. It's heir's disease Guillaume's suffering from, it's downright tragic."

"Heir's disease?"

"Well, what else do you call this? He knows he needs to slow down, but he won't because he's far too dutiful for it. And Amedeo needs him to slow down because our dear Archduke won't be able to cope with it all much longer without Guillaume as a stable balancing factor. But he won't say that because he's been brought up as a heir as well, and there seems to be something in the rules they learn about how they're not supposed to listen to their own needs or ask for something they need for themselves."

Andrea thought that through. "Guillaume doesn't take it easier because Amedeo keeps telling him it's for his own good, and because he feels that isn't a good enough reason? And Amedeo won't ask for his own sake because that would be too selfish, when that's what actually would make Guillaume stop and take note?"

Tatiana nodded. "That's about it," she agreed and uncapped the cachaca bottle. "Heir's disease."

"Tragic."

"Very."

"So what do we do?"

She poured three generous shots into the snifters with crushed ice and lime wedges before her. "We have Pierre come and collect Stefano until tomorrow, and try to cheer poor Amedeo up until we think of a more permanent solution. And pour alcohol into him, that should help, too."

As usual when Tatiana suggested something, it all came together very quickly. Pierre stopped by to pick up his nephew (who earnestly instructed Amedeo in how to play with the train set before leaving), and soon afterwards, they had their irate archduke well on his way towards thoroughly plastered.

"It's just not fair," Amedeo declared after the fourth Caipirinha. "I'm supposed to get to spend more time with him now that we're married, but that's just not true. It was better when we had to be sneaky. More fun, too."

"Aside from all those times when you didn't get laid for months on end," Andrea added.

Amedeo considered that, then nodded. "That was a drawback," he agreed. "But it was much easier to keep track of him then, he didn't rush all over the place."

"Tracking anklet," Tatiana suggested, toying with her own drink. "Then you'll know where he is. But he's a prince, he doesn't usually get to go anywhere without a gaggle of reporters following him. All you need to do is keep an eye on the news, he'll turn up somewhere."

"That's not the point," Amedeo said, gesturing vaguely. "I don't want him to turn up somewhere. I want him to turn up here more often. Well, not here, but wherever I'm at the time. I miss him."

Andrea shot him a commiserating glance, got up from his seat, stumbled the few steps to the other sofa and flopped down by his friend's side. "Don't be lonely," he said, clumsily patting Amedeo's hair. "You can always come visit with Tatiana and me."

"Thanks, but that's just not the same. You're nice and all, but..."

Tatiana chuckled. "But you'd like to get Guillaume into bed for some stress relief?"

Amedeo winked at her. "Exactly. And don't take that the wrong way, but I'm not really interested in giving that a try with you two."

Andrea grinned. "You don't know what you're missing," he drawled, then yelped when Amedeo poked him hard in the side. "Hey."

"Behave," Amedeo told him, full of serious sincerity. "Your wife is watching."

On the other sofa opposite from them, Tatiana was almost shaking with laughter. "It's all right," she managed, "he's allowed to cheer you up a little bit. He knows where to draw the line."

A firm nod, then Andrea leaned his head against Amedeo's shoulder. "If you don't have Guillaume to snuggle up to, we'll compensate. Does he know you're here, anyway?"

Amedeo shrugged, ceasing the motion when Andrea grumbled at being bumped. "Probably not. I didn't tell him I was going on a trip and he hasn't called so far."

Tatiana's expression darkened with disapproval. "That's not nice. Give me your phone."

Amedeo blinked at her. "Why?"

She snapped her fingers at him in a clear sign that she expected obedience, and he complied with an expression of faint alarm in his eyes. "Because I say so. Give it over."

Too smart to even try and resist, Amedeo fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her, then settled back down, a wary look on his face for which Andrea couldn't blame him.

Tatiana fiddled with the phone to set it to speaker, then put it down on the table between them, the dial tone already ringing. A few seconds, then Guillaume answered with a tired-sounding, "Amedeo? I didn't think you'd call this late, is everything all right?"

"This isn't Amedeo," Tatiana said.

Guillaume sounded instantly wide awake and wary, understandably so. "Tatiana? Why are you calling from that number? Has something happened? What is this about?"

"This is about us wondering whether you've got any idea where your husband is right now since you are so very busy."

A moment's hesitation, then, "Since you've got his phone, I assume he isn't in Luxembourg."

"Saint-Rémy, love, with those two," Amedeo put in. "You're on speaker, Andrea is here as well."

"What are you doing in France?"

"He's having a drink right now and then he'll spend the night with us," Andrea said helpfully. Amedeo cast him a look that was half amused, half irritated, so he added, "Not in that sense. The other sense."

The silence from Guillaume's end spoke volumes.

"Anyway," Tatiana took back the lead, "I suggest you stop by tomorrow to collect him. Otherwise we may just keep him so he won't be neglected anymore."

"Neglected? Amedeo..."

Interesting enough, Amedeo opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it, merely shook his head and opted for a mouthful of Caipirinha instead. Andrea quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at his friend, earned a humourless half-smile in return, and settled for a reassuring hand on Amedeo's shoulder.

"Don't argue," Tatiana said firmly. "We've got a spitting mad Habsburg on our sofa and I'm holding you responsible. And since I'm not interested in a repeat of that, you are going to fix this, you hear? Or I'm going to get Wills to back me up, and he won't be in a great mood these days if he's got to deal with you when he's supposed to rest and recuperate."

"I do not understand what you are talking about."

Tatiana rolled her eyes. "I'm talking about your husband growing tired of constantly beating his head against the brick wall that's your stubborn self," she said. "And since you aren't listening to him, and you seem to have forgotten what Wills has been trying to get you to understand I'm going to give it a shot."

"Tatiana-"

"You," she interrupted him, "are going to take better care of yourself. And you're going to have free time. What you do with that is up to you, but I suggest you see whether Amedeo wouldn't like to spend some of that with you. And you'd better start by stopping by on your way home tomorrow to collect him, or we'll put a collar on him and claim finders, keepers."

Guillaume sighed audibly. "I would really like to talk to my husband," he said stiffly.

"Talk, he's sitting right here."

"And I am sure you can see that I would appreciate some privacy for that."

Tatiana picked up the phone. "You don't get that right now, Andrea and I have temporarily adopted him."

Amedeo blinked and turned his head to glance at Andrea. Andrea awkwardly reached up and petted his hair. "You can share a room with Stefano if you want."

"I think I'll take the couch, if you don't mind. Guillaume? Love, it's all right but we do need to talk." He switched to Lëtzebuergesch then in lieu of actual privacy, but Andrea's mind was far too befuddled already to figure out what those two were talking about. All he noticed was that Amedeo sounded reassuring at first before his tone grew sharper again, while Guillaume turned more formal and official by the second.

If that was how those two conducted their arguments, it was small wonder that Amedeo ended up turning elsewhere to vent. Whoever usually got that honour hopefully had better ideas on how to handle it, because Andrea still felt rather confused by it all.

"Very well," Guillaume eventually switched back to French. "I'll come tomorrow, but I cannot guarantee the time, it all depends on how long the last session runs on and whether anyone needs to talk to me afterwards."

Tatiana once more looked up to the heavens in despair. "You come tomorrow," she instructed, "and you fix this, or else." With that she turned off the phone, put it down, and poured all three of them another drink.

Later, Andrea was a little hazy on the details of how that evening went on. They got Amedeo cheered up again eventually, with the help of a bit of cuddling, a bit of teasing and a lot of cachaca, and the rest of the time was spent plotting more and more outrageous ways to have Guillaume take some much-needed time off. Kidnapping him definitely had some merit, Andrea felt. He particularly liked the suggestion to recruit the population of Luxembourg and turn it into a communal effort.

The next morning (or noon, rather, judging by the treacherous, _treacherous_ sunlight streaming past the curtains), he woke up to a mop of brown hair in his face and an archduke comfortably cuddled against him, one arm slung across Andrea's midriff to keep himself from rolling off the couch while sleeping the sleep of the thoroughly sloshed. Andrea grumbled wordlessly, got a half-snore in reply, and figured there was no point in moving just yet. At least, there wouldn't have been if it hadn't been for that imminent feeling of being stared at.

Andrea cracked an eye open and slowly turned his head to try and focus on the bristling Hereditary Grand Duke towering above him. Which was all sorts of wrong, because Guillaume really was too short to be doing that.

"What," Guillaume asked, his voice clipped, arms tightly crossed over his chest, "are you doing with my husband?"

Andrea quirked an eyebrow, then abandoned the gesture when it made his brain ache. "Tap dancing," he rasped. "What does it look like?"

Guillaume's frown deepened.

"Oh, come on. What do you think we did, except have a nap? I'm not so crazy that I'll get up to anything with your Habsburg." Even if they'd been at all capable of getting anything up, which Andrea seriously doubted. "Here to scrape him off the couch and take him home? You really need to work on his tolerance, Tatiana should not be able to drink him under the table like that."

Still looking sceptical, Guillaume slowly shook his head. "I do not know why I put up with your antics," he said.

Andrea blinked up at him with his best angelic smile. "Because deep down, you really like me?"

Guillaume rolled his eyes and leaned down to lightly shake Amedeo's shoulder. All he got in reply was a protesting murmur before Amedeo tucked his nose against Andrea's neck.

"You'll need to do better than that," Andrea grumbled, "even I know he isn't a morning person. Which I'm not, either, so get him and let me sleep. Or I'll complain to Wills."

The threat didn't appear at all convincing even after a warning look, so Andrea scrambled for his cell phone on the couch table, hit Wills on speed dial and waited.

"Andrea," his friend greeted him a few seconds later.

"Hey Wills. Mind helping me out with something?"

If he'd been more awake and sober, he'd have felt affronted at the cautious quality of that "Sure."

"Tell Guillaume that I didn't do anything with Amedeo except nap and that our pet archduke really isn't the most comfortable person to snuggle up to. And that he's starting to nuzzle my neck and I'd really appreciate it if Guillaume could get him off me because I'm not shagging a Habsburg, no matter what."

A second of stunned silence, then, "Mate, you're _so_ on your own with that one."

Andrea heaved a sigh. "Traitor," he murmured and put the phone down again to look up at Guillaume, whose expression had turned stony by now. "Save me? Please?"

Guillaume didn't twitch and when Andrea tried to nudge Amedeo to wake him up, all he got was another murmur and a snuffle. It might have been fun if it hadn't been accompanied by frosty Luxembourgian disapproval.

He rolled his eyes and treated Guillaume to his best glower. "Don't tell me you're trying to figure out whether to pitch a jealousy fit, that would be beyond ridiculous. You know, you could avoid this sort of situation if you spent more time at home."

"That is none of your concerns," Guillaume said, still visibly unsure what to do about that whole situation. Apparently it wasn't the sort of topic covered in heir class, which clearly made for an egregious oversight given that this wasn't even the first time Andrea woke up with royal company in the morning. They all were a damn snuggly bunch.

Another attempt to get up without having Amedeo tumble to the floor - Andrea was feeling generous this morning after all - didn't yield any success either. "Look, you can either help me here or you can fetch me a cup of espresso. Or I'm going to have to call Tatiana for help, and she was furious enough with you yesterday that you won't enjoy that."

Guillaume looked taken aback at that. "Why would she be angry? I haven't done anything to her."

Andrea sighed. "So much still to learn. You pissed off your husband. Who then talked to my wife. They're both used to dealing with us and they're great friends with the other consorts. Who'll all be angry at you as well if you don't fix this. So unless you want Mette-Marit to give you a talking to the next time you two sashay down a red carpet together, I suggest you see about getting your Habsburg vertical."

It was almost amusing how quickly that argument prompted Guillaume into action. A flick to Amedeo's ear that had him muttering, a quiet call of his name, and Andrea felt his couch-mate tense as he went through the mental process of figuring out that something wasn't quite as it was supposed to be, and where the deviation lay. A quick shake of his head, then he looked up, blinking blearily and focused first on Andrea - looking a little startled at finding him this close - then craned his neck to glance up at Guillaume.

"Hi, love," he murmured.

Guillaume appeared to be hovering between exasperation and caution, almost the same expression Andrea was treated to at times. "Care to explain?"

Andrea rolled his eyes at that display of stupidity. One day their Hereditary Grand Duke would learn, but that day seemed to be long in coming.

"I don't think I need to explain anything here," Amedeo snapped and sat up, wincing at the combined impact of daylight, verticality and cachaca residue in his bloodstream. "Why did you have to wake me up?"

"Because you were-" Guillaume caught himself just in time before he could say something really foolish. Andrea raised an eyebrow at him to let him know he'd noticed, and received a frown in return. He fought the urge to stick out his tongue. "Are you ready to leave, or do you want to continue your play date?"

Amedeo wrinkled his nose and raised a hand to rub his temple. "Coffee first. And a shower. And headache pills. God, Andrea, what was that last stuff?"

"Banana brandy," Andrea said. "Don't tell Wills I gave you any, he's forbidden me to offer it to guests."

Guillaume took a look at the two of them as they sat there, dishevelled and still wincing at the light, and shook his head. "Can't imagine why," he muttered.

***  
 _October 2019_  
***

Ice hockey, Andrea decided, was a sport for people with far more tolerance for freezing temperatures than him. The air was chilly thanks to the ice sheet down below, and even though their seats had heated cushions, those did very little to keep his arse warm. And the thick jerseys Theodora had provided for Tatiana and him were comfortable for exactly three minutes before the collar was too tight, the sleeves just a fraction too short and the things didn't nearly provide as much protection from the cold as he'd hoped.

They were, however, the perfect excuse to keep Tatiana drawn tightly against his side, his hands tucked with hers into the front pocket of her sweater to keep them warm. They were seated in one of the lounges along with Theodora, a few other partners and family members and a handful of alarmingly young men who, Andrea figured out after a few minutes, were in some way associated with various NHL teams. At least he presumed those were team names they were bandying about; Sharks and Devils might as well be gang names, though the Ducks would have been a bit strange in that context. 

It left him wishing that Carl had found time after all to join them and share his Scandinavian knowledge about crazy winter sports like this one, when Andrea was left in complete and utter confusion about the chaos going on down below. Theodora was no help; she was far too busy cheering and wolf-whistling whenever her boy toy was on the ice to explain anything.

Pecking him on the cheek, Tatiana treated him to an amused smile. "It's really not that cold," she said, her hands tightening on his.

Andrea glanced at the people around them, who seemed comfortable in their jerseys and even had the sleeves pushed up in some cases. "There's ice down there," he pointed out. "So it's freezing."

She chuckled and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Next time we'll take Theodora up on an invitation for one of the Los Angeles games, then you'll be warm once we leave the arena."

"Do we have to?" he asked plaintively. He'd escaped that fate so far, but when Theodora's boy toy's team had announced a game in Copenhagen to give their European fans a chance at seeing them live, there had been no escaping anymore.

"Do you have to what?" Theodora asked, dropping down into her seat by his other side.

Andrea looked at her. "Couldn't you have found a boy toy who does sports that don't involve sub-zero temperatures? Footballers are nice, I hear. They play their matches in a reasonable climate."

Theodora smirked at him. "Cold, are you?"

Andrea shivered demonstratively.

"Be glad Jarret plays hockey, that's an indoors sport. Imagine if he were a cross-country skier, you'd be sitting in a field in Finland for five hours in the deepest winter."

"You're a Danish princess, perhaps you can't help it," he allowed. "But you should listen more to the Greek side of your ancestry, they had better ideas about sports."

Theodora looked contemplative. "Well, they performed in the nude, that does have a certain appeal."

"Nice thought," Tatiana agreed from Andrea's other side. "But not for hockey, surely."

"No, I'd rather Jarret didn't freeze any important bits off."

Tatiana shared a grin with her. "That would really be a tragedy. No, better leave them dressed so your fun doesn't get spoiled."

Theodora nodded, then gave an ear-splitting whistle when her boy toy scored and vanished in a crowd of celebrating team mates. Or at least Andrea thought so; it was hard to say with a sport that seemed to happen on fast forward. It was a good thing that Monaco had an expert for all things ice-related in Alexandra; ever since she'd taken up figure skating a decade ago, she had happily turned into their poster child for those tasks. If she kept him from having to attend any more hockey games, Andrea inwardly vowed to build her a proper skating rink in Monaco if that was what it took.

As much as the game confused him, it was still a nice evening. Tatiana was allowing him to keep her close, her fingers slowly stroking across his wrists as she leaned against him, and to his other side Theodora looked thoroughly excited at seeing her boy toy earn his keep. It was good to see her like that, all happy and cheerful, and in this relationship there was no need to worry about her being used for her money or title. Not that Theodora was the sort of person who'd put up with that sort of nonsense, but it was nonetheless reassuring to know that there was no risk of such opportunism. And it took someone as formidable as her to be able to hold his own. Andrea figured that spending much of your time in adrenaline-soaked dangerous situations with mad Russians wielding sticks while coming toward you at high speed probably prepared you to some extent for life with a Greco-Danish valkyrie.

"You're coming for lunch tomorrow, right?" Theodora asked when her boy toy came off the ice to sit in that little isolation box and she could spare them some attention again. "Aunt Daisy has been asking whether you'll join us."

"Of course," Tatiana said before Andrea could voice his opinion. "She's so much fun to talk to."

It was a good thing he was used to the company of royal women by now, or the idea of lunch in the company of Tatiana, Theodora and Aunt Daisy - also known as Her Majesty Queen Margrethe II of Denmark - would have been an even more daunting prospect. There was something about that particular trio that had clicked when Theodora had introduced Tatiana to her aunt at the wedding of Bea two years ago. Andrea had spent the time since then wondering whether the world would survive a repeat performance. He'd just have to hope for the best, it seemed.

"Still cold?" Tatiana asked later that evening, when he kept trying to slip his hands in her pockets. They'd been invited to stay in the spacious apartment Theodora and her siblings used whenever one of them was in Denmark, since their gracious host had apparently got other plans for the night. Not much of a surprise; Andrea had seen the proud, possessive gleam in her eyes when her boy toy had scored the game winning goal.

"Perhaps?" he tried, giving her a hopeful smile and snuggling closer as he stood behind her at the window overlooking Copenhagen's Nyhavn canal. "This is Denmark. Icy country. Practically on the Arctic Circle."

Tatiana shook her head, laughing, and leaned in to kiss his nose. "However did you survive in New York for all those years?"

"I had you to keep me warm?" he said, eyebrows waggling suggestively. "Perhaps I could offer you a deal..."

A smile curling the corner of her mouth, she cocked her head. "What sort of deal?"

"Oh, I don't know." He nuzzled at her ear, her temple. Her jawline, before finding her mouth for a brief kiss. "The movies always make it look as though body heat is an excellent way to warm up."

"Is it, now." Tatiana sounded unconvinced, but the way her hands moved to a tight grip on his upper arms spoke a different message. "Anything specific you had in mind?"

"Perhaps it would be easiest if I demonstrated," he suggested, his arms tightening around her to draw her flush against him, her body such a familiar presence in his embrace.

She brushed her lips against his, then tilted her head and nipped at the soft underside of his jaw, a sharp contrast that had gasp a startled breath. "By all means," she agreed, slowly pushing against him to make him walk backwards to their room.

He went along without looking, trusting her to steer him right; they stopped at the door, distracted for long minutes by lazy kisses, Andrea's back leaning against the polished wooden surface, Tatiana's hips a firm pressure against him and enough to snap his senses into tight focus.

"Remember that talk we had when Wills and Carl came to visit?" she asked, her hands toying with the hem of his shirt, fingertips ghosting over the bare skin of his belly.

Andrea blinked at her. "Which one?" he asked, holding still for a moment to meet her eyes, even though it took a not inconsiderable effort not to give in and claim her mouth for a kiss instead of talking.

"The one about a younger sibling for Stefano?" she said.

It took him a second to figure out what she meant, never mind that it was hardly difficult to understand. Their friends had been so convinced that there already was another baby on the way that it had made Andrea and Tatiana sit down and seriously consider the possibility. With a very simple conclusion - it was up to Tatiana whether and when they put their musings into practice.

"Are you planning to make Carl put together another crib?" he asked, slowly working his knee between her thighs. Another child? Well, it might take a while until they got that particular project underway...

Tatiana looked at him, one eyebrow raised suggestively. "As long as he promises to tighten the screws properly this time," she said, her hands on his shoulders pushing him back to march him into their room as she kissed him, thorough enough to leave no doubt as to what she had in mind. "Shall we give it a try?"

It really was not his most focused decision with Tatiana pressed against him, all warm and soft and so very tempting, even the smallest of her touches adding to his growing arousal. Then again, there wasn't all that much to think about. "By all means, my lady," he whispered in her ear, then found himself pushed down onto the bed, Tatiana following him, dark eyes determined. "By all means."

***  
 _November 2019_  
***

Three weeks later, a smug smile on her face, Tatiana presented him with a positive pregnancy test.

"I should have known you'd waste no time once you get an idea in your head," Andrea told her once his mind had approached something close to normal working order again. In a way, this was simpler than the first time around, though Stefano did his best that day to prove that no parent with a toddler should ever feel complacent. Andrea was still finding rice from lunch in his hair.

"Of course not, why would I?" Tatiana looked so wholly pleased at it all that even his initial panicked reaction was impossible to maintain; if she felt it was all as it should be, then he'd be a fool to argue.

It all only stayed as well as it should be for another two weeks. Then morning sickness (and afternoon sickness, and evening, and night) set in with a vengeance, and Tatiana spent National Day pale, cranky and exuding an air of silently seething woman that had Andrea's mother and his sisters gather around her protectively and at the same time made him fear for his meagre life. Even Albert caught on and spent the day as far away from Tatiana as possible, which made for rather odd balcony scenes. Only Pierre looked unperturbed; he had claimed Stefano early in the day and was cheerfully bouncing his nephew on his hip throughout the ceremony, not batting an eyelash at that formidable gathering of Grimaldi women beside him.

"What did you do to her?" Carl asked when Andrea caught hold of him on the phone a few days later. "She looked so thoroughly pissed off with you on the photographs. Have you been monumentally idiotic or did you get her pregnant?"

Andrea blinked. "I have no idea what you mean," he waved off, even though Guillaume had asked the same question - worded in a more polite fashion - two days earlier. Royals could really be the worst gossips, even when they tried to pretend to be all proper and exalted. It wasn't even something that got better with age, or once they ascended to the throne and became all outwardly dignified. At that point, they simply had better secret service contacts to do their snooping.

"Of course not," Carl said. "I knew something was up last time we were visiting."

"I told you that you were wrong." And Carl had been at the time, but it seemed his friend was not about to let go of his convictions. It had made for increasingly weird conversations over the past few weeks already. And even now it did, because it was still too soon for them to tell anyone about the new peanut. Their mothers knew, but they'd drawn the line at that, though Pierre had definitely worked out that something was going on, and was fussing more than usual. "You can ask Tatiana yourself if you want to, she'll tell you the same. Talk to her at the AIDS gala, she'll be happy to set you right."

There was a second's hesitation at the other end of the line, enough to make Andrea feel cautious. "We're not going to be able to make it this year," Carl said, genuine regret in his voice. "I've got to help Vicky, she can't shoulder all of Pappa's appointments on top of her own until he'll be rid of the cast and walking again. And Wills is stuck with all our duties over in Britain until I'm back, he can't get away either."

"Don't worry." Andrea did his best not to show his disappointment. He'd been looking forward to seeing his friends, and the AIDS gala had become something of a tradition for all of them by now. "How is your father doing?"

"Still irritated to no end that he managed to step into a sinkhole and break his leg," Carl said. "It's healing up fine, but he simply can't perform any appointments that require him to walk somewhere. You can imagine how many are left."

"I get the idea," Andrea said. "So you're being all lonely and abandoned in Sweden?"

"Not abandoned, but... yeah. More or less." He heard his friend sigh. "I wouldn't like this under normal circumstances, and with Wills just back from Australia, it's not how this was supposed to go. At least we're on the same continent again, that's an improvement already."

"You did sound aggravated while he was Down Under," Andrea agreed. Another after-effect of Carl suddenly getting roped into doing Swedish royal duties: he'd been forced to miss his trip to Australia with Wills, and it had been obvious to everyone who knew those two that those weeks hadn't been easy. Even more so because the press had gone on a wild goose chase and broadcast rumours about Wills fathering a bastard, Carl taking up with his ex again and the Prince of Wales speaking to divorce lawyers on behalf of his son. Andrea didn't think there was anything to those rumours, but it was hard to miss that not everything was right with his friends, and that in turn didn't sit well with him at all.

Carl gave a rueful laugh. "Aggravated is the right word. But surely it's got to be better by now."

"You didn't look completely cranky on the photos for your appointment yesterday," Andrea assured him.

"And why are you looking at those?"

"Because I'm interested in what my friends get up to. So that wasn't just for show?"

"No, I was back in London for the weekend, that made a difference. Now if only Amedeo could believe that as well, he keeps leaving those helpful text messages telling me that I need to get laid."

Andrea chuckled. "Well, do you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know. Why are you all so interested in our sex life?"

"Because we care, and because you're finally having one again, you were getting horribly irritable. And it's not like I won't find out anyway. Did Wills tell you that Tatiana and I are coming to Scotland with you for New Year's?" It was the chance to have a nice few days away from everything at the cottage of Wills and Carl, possibly the last time in a while once the second peanut came along. Stefano would be with his grandma and Uncle Pierre for New Year's, so Andrea and Tatiana had seized the opportunity when Wills had mentioned it.

"Not just you two, Amedeo invited himself and Guillaume a month ago already. Part of his quest to drag Guillaume to isolated places and force him to slow down, I think." Carl didn't sound like he particularly minded, though, which was progress compared to just a few years ago. "So it's going to be the usual suspects for New Year's."

"Perfect. If you've got to miss the fun now, you'll be able to catch up then."

"And you and Tatiana can finally tell us what you're having."

"You," Andrea told him sternly, "are obsessed."

Carl chuckled. "Pot, kettle, black. Give her a hug from me, will you?"

Andrea wasn't entirely certain he'd dare to come that close to her right now, at least not when she had any sharp objects within reach, but nodded anyway. "Sure," he said cheerfully. "And you'd better make sure you get back to Wills before he forgets what you look like."

"I'll do my best," Carl promised. "It's not as if he likes this any more than I do."

Or any of them, Andrea thought but didn't say it out loud.

***  
 _December 2019_  
***

The days between National Day and the World AIDS Day Gala always were a little nerve-wrecking, since they tended to bring Grimaldi gatherings with them. Everybody was required to show up for National Day, and now that the gala had increased its profile over the past years, family attendance was becoming mandatory there as well. Andrea didn't mind his cousins at all - they were all easy to get along with these days and had, without exception, breathed a sigh of relief when it had become obvious that nobody was going to make them take the throne. Even Cousin Christian no longer was making any moves, which occasionally made Andrea feel more than a little suspicious. You could never be sure what the de Massy side was up to.

No, the younger generation wasn't a problem. But their parents... That Andrea's mother and Albert treated each other with icy disdain had been plain to everyone for years now, and it was just as hard to miss that Aunt Stephanie had lost her patience - which hadn't been all that strong to begin with - and given up on them. It made for tense joint appearances, which tended to descend into downright dangerous territory when Albert's wife was added to the mix. Then there'd be snubs with the aid of protocol - which Andrea's mother usually won, thanks to having married a Royal Highness as her third husband and increasing her status that way - along with more or less subtle comments to the press and deliberate attempts at sabotage. Andrea had never been more glad that during the Church services he was usually seated in the pew opposite of that of Albert, together with Tatiana and his siblings; he had no idea what was going on over there, but he could see the alternatively enraged and angelic expressions on all their faces, accompanied by unintelligible mutters.

By the time the AIDS gala came around, even Pierre was beginning to look a little frayed around the edges. Understandably so, this year; he'd been the one who'd been unfortunate enough to be the only other family member at hand to deal with Aunt Stephanie's temper tantrum when she'd finally had enough. Throwing your aunt over your shoulder and dragging her off might be frowned upon in general, but Andrea could only applaud him for his swift thinking. Having her descend into a biting, scratching brawl with her sister-in-law would have looked worse.

Fortunately for all involved, they were spared a repeat performance at the gala by the simple expedience of Albert's wife finding herself locked into her rooms. Quite accidentally, of course - Alexandra and Pierre had only wanted to be helpful by keeping stray guests from wandering into private areas of the palace. And their aunt-by-marriage could easily have gotten out if she'd climbed down the balcony, a simple feat for someone who didn't particularly care how she'd look once she arrived at the bottom.

By midnight, Andrea figured she wasn't going to show up anymore and began to relax. It was always good to know that his guests were safe from her random attempts at dragging them into photos and, in case of the men, finding her hands where they definitely didn't belong.

"You need to host more galas," Theodora told him as they stood together by one of the windows of the Red Salon to catch a breath of fresh air. "Those things are almost always boring, but here they're guaranteed to be awesome."

"You're just saying that because you don't usually get chances to auction off your brother," Andrea said.

Theodora raised her wine in a toast, a look of pure innocence on her face. "There's that. Who'd have thought one dinner with Philippos would raise that much charity money? Though I do wonder what they all had in mind with him."

Andrea had wondered that too, and in the case of some of the bidders - especially their dear pet archduke - he'd rather not have found out. Fortunately for everyone involved (except for possibly Philippos himself), the winning bid had come from Harry, who'd just clapped his cousin on the shoulder and told him to stop by for a few beers some day.

"Face it, your brother is simply irresistible," he said, clinking his glass against hers. "Who wouldn't want to take him home?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Shall I ask him whether he's willing to sell himself for another evening?"

"Without the auction, the thrill is gone," Andrea said mournfully. "Besides, I don't know what Tatiana would say if I bought her a boy toy."

"Given that she won that weekend with Vicky and Madeleine, possibly not much." Theodora drained her glass with an un-princesslike toss of her head, then looked at him expectantly. "Anything to tell, by the way?"

Andrea shot her an exasperated look. "Has Carl put you up to this?"

"He's called me twice to make sure I'd ask. Apparently it's of the utmost importance that I get an answer out of you. I think he must have a few bets riding on it, he's normally more laid back where that sort of thing is concerned."

Hiding behind his own glass, Andrea took a more careful sip, then was mercifully saved by the arrival of Theodora's boy toy. Which really wasn't an apt description for Jarret or for what was going on between him and Theodora anymore, but it was the sort of nickname that was bound to stick.

"Nice party," Jarret complimented him, offering a fresh tumbler of something amber-coloured to Theodora. The man had learned, obviously, and given that his own glass held something that looked like it was wine at the most, he'd learned very well that one better didn't attempt to match Theodora for drinks. "I thought all those royal get-togethers would be more eccentric. Cucumber sandwiches and such."

Andrea grinned. "Wait another hour or so, until the half-hearted attendees are gone, then you'll get to see them all for real. Theodora, you need to bring him along more often."

"And scare him off? Certainly not." Theodora linked arms with her lover, and Andrea didn't bother to hide his smirk when he noticed that Jarret's tie had obviously been chosen to match her blood red dress. "I can't get him that often in the middle of the hockey season anyway."

"So you took a holiday for us?" Andrea asked him. 

Jarret smirked back. "Not really. They suspended me for five games because I clipped a Duck. Accidentally, I swear, it looked much worse than it was."

Theodora patted his upper arm while Andrea tried not to move and attract attention. "He's such a darling. And you know how tricky the royal circuit can be, so I'm starting him easy."

Andrea blinked at her. "Here?"

"Sure. With all that royal insanity around, who's going to notice if he gets something wrong?"

Amedeo wandered by at that moment, cocking his head at that. "Royal insanity?" he asked, waving at someone across the room before turning towards them.

"Just talking of you," Andrea told him and willingly made space. "You've met the bo- Jarret?"

Theodora shot him an angelic smile when he yelped at having the tip of her shoe connect with his shin.

Amedeo looked momentarily distracted, then nodded. "By sight, I think," he said cheerfully, offering his hand in greeting. "Hi. Amedeo. Theodora can fill you in on the rest, that always takes a while and it's not like it matters."

Jarret shook his hand. "Nice to meet you. So you're the one who seduced her old boyfriend away from her?"

Andrea almost choked when a mouthful of wine went down the wrong way.

"Ah, Theodora, my dear," Amedeo said sadly while Jarret helpfully pounded Andrea on the back, apparently not feeling any reluctance about laying his hands on royal - or nearly royal - personages. Then again, he probably did more than that with Theodora. "You need to accept that you two were never meant to be and that I only let you have him as a pretence."

"Keep telling yourself that," she shot back, batting her eyelashes. "Where is he, anyway?"

Amedeo turned a little more serious at that. "In bed, he managed to catch the flu."

"And you've abandoned him to be with us?" Theodora moved forward and rose up to kiss his cheek in reward. "Very nice of you."

Smiling, Amedeo pecked her cheek in return. "Well, Félix is sitting on him for me so he actually stays put. With Wills and Carl not here either, someone had to come and represent the gay royal subset."

Andrea raised an eyebrow. "As though you're the only one," he drawled. "But it's the thought that counts."

Head cocked, Amedeo considered. "Point taken, there are two or three others I could name who've at least gotten curious."

"Are there, now?" Theodora asked. "Do share."

Seeing the glint in her eyes, Andrea decided to be merciful and change the topic, just in case that one of the names on Amedeo's mind was that of her brother. "Should we really scandalise poor Jarret like that?"

Jarret shrugged. "We've got a few players in the league who're more than just an open secret," he said. "It's not like anyone cares. Or is about to suggest that a six foot five, 230 pounds hockey player needs to maintain a manly image, or any crap like that." He paused, then glanced at Theodora. "Does that fall under the 'no swearing' rule?"

Theodora patted his arm. "Don't worry, that's mostly for when you meet the older generation," she said. "Andrea and Amedeo can take it, they aren't wilting flowers."

"As if any of the old guard are," Amedeo said. "When it comes to swearing, my grandmother could represent the country at the Olympics."

"Your grandmothers both are Italian, that doesn't count," Andrea told him, then was distracted by Tatiana waving at him from the doorway into the next room. "I think I'm called to heel... Amedeo, don't wander off, all right? I need to talk to you about something."

Following the direction of his glance, Amedeo smirked when he spotted Tatiana and made shooing motions with his free hand. "Sure, I'll just have Theodora and Jarret entertain me until you're let loose again."

Tatiana turned out to need him not for a genuine emergency, but for a small incident involving a fairly drunk Crown Prince of Denmark, who was sitting in the fountain of the Court of Honour and refusing to come out again.

"S'nice here," he declared with swooping arm gestures. "Refreshing."

Andrea and Tatiana exchanged glances. "Well, it's not like he's going to freeze to death," Andrea said.

"He might keel over face-down and drown, though. Do you want to explain that one? They might miss him eventually."

Tatiana did have a point there, so Andrea spent the next ten minutes coaxing a rat-arsed, soaked Dane out of a fountain, much to the amusement of the Crown Princesses of Norway and the Netherlands, who were watching from the balcony on the upper level.

"Finally decided that he is a frog, has he?" Maxima asked, a wide grin on her face.

"You can always go and try whether kissing him turns him into a prince," Mette-Marit suggested.

Andrea turned to look up at the two of them. "By all means, my dear ladies," he called up, "if you want to give it a try?"

They got him out without having to resort to fairytale means, and once that mission was accomplished, Andrea bowed to the applauding princesses, collected a promising kiss from Tatiana - the first he'd been permitted in days, and how he'd missed that - and escorted his wife back inside, where she was almost immediately gathered up by Pierre, herbal tea in hand for her.

"You realise that she's my wife, right?" Andrea asked. It was good to know that others, too, watched out for her, but at times it rankled to see Pierre get away with a lot more fussing than what was permitted to Andrea.

Pierre shrugged. "She's family," he said matter-of-factly, and for him it probably really was that simple. "I'm merely showing my appreciation."

The statement earned him a quick cuddle from Tatiana before she came over to Andrea in two swift steps, cup of tea carefully balanced in her hand. "Don't worry," she told him with a smile, her free hand coming up to cup his cheek. "Pierre gets to bring me tea. You get to do other things."

Andrea quirked an eyebrow inquiringly. Tatiana fluttered her eyelashes in reply and leaned in for a very thorough kiss that soon had him wishing that they weren't still on the gala and that he weren't obligated to stay until the last guests decided to leave. His arms around her, careful of the tea cup in her hand and the intricacies of her dress, Andrea simply enjoyed having her close for a little while until he felt her slowly draw back.

"Go be a good host," she told him with an encouraging pat to his rear. "I'll be fine, I'll go sit on the balcony with Charlotte and Alexandra for a bit and catch some fresh air."

Andrea and Pierre exchanged brief glances; with their two sisters for company, it was a safe bet that Tatiana would be fine and, even more importantly, was planning on some private time. "Have fun," Andrea told her.

"And tell us if you need someone to fetch your coat," Pierre added.

Laughing, Tatiana kissed Andrea on the mouth and Pierre on the cheek, then departed with a cheerful wave.

"However did you figure it out?" Andrea asked when she was gone. They hadn't said anything yet, but within days of the two of them knowing, Pierre had begun to treat Tatiana with the same blend of reverence and fussing he'd exhibited when she'd been pregnant with Stefano. It was a bit disconcerting that he'd settled into that behaviour so quickly when Andrea was still working on wrapping his mind around the idea of another peanut on the way.

Pierre treated him to an amused look. "Let's see, she suddenly is a lot crankier than usual," he said, beginning to tick off points on his fingers, "she's been visibly under the weather, you two get that odd expression on your faces whenever you look at each other, and you've been practically sleepwalking for the last few weeks. I simply put two and two together and came up with a baby."

Andrea sighed. "It's only been eight weeks, we didn't want to say anything yet."

"I figured as much." Pierre picked up two glasses of white wine from a passing waiter and offered one to Andrea. "I think Mama has worked it out, too."

"We've told her last week. There's no way to hide something like that from her."

Pierre raised his glass in an agreeable toast. "Certainly not," he said. "Do you need me for anything? Otherwise I'll see if I can find Philippos, I want to talk to him about a few investments."

"Go have fun, be productive," Andrea told him. "Don't buy any small countries."

Pierre winked at him. "I'll try to restrain myself. But if you and Tatiana keep on having little ones, we may need to expand the territory."

"The kids can just take a leaf out of the book of all their royal cousins and their ancestors and marry a nice country somewhere," Andrea said. "Much easier."

"Though not necessarily cheaper. Well, I'll consult with you before I overthrow any governments."

Though said in jest, Andrea hoped Pierre would remember that promise if it ever came to overthrowing the government in Monaco. That one looked far less hypothetical than it could have.

Once Pierre was gone again, Andrea wandered through the rooms, looking for their resident scion of a dynasty known for their use of the marriage bed for political gain. There was no point in wondering whether Amedeo had ever considered that when he'd made a move on Guillaume - or however that one had gone - but Andrea was willing to bet that a number of their relatives thought it had been a calculated plot to win himself a crown. And just as sure that Amedeo and Guillaume had a good laugh at it whenever that came up.

He spotted his target chatting with Harry by a window, a plate of bite-sized sandwiches between them on the windowsill. "... so Joachim is still trying to figure out how to break the news to Grandfather. It's a pain in the arse when you need to get permission for your marriage. You had the right of it, present everyone with irrefutable facts and not bother with it all. Oh, hi Andrea. All dealt with?"

"Of course." Andrea stole one of the morsels - cucumber, he noticed with faint amusement - and popped it in his mouth, idly wondering whether Tatiana would accept that as sufficient for dinner. "The little ones are finally getting serious?"

"Looks like it, but with all the dynastic red tape, it's going to take months before they can make it official," Amedeo said. "Grandfather has to give his permission, Papa, Uncle Henri, Cousin Karl, and I think they may want to talk to the Bourbon-Parmas as well, just in case. So there's no need for making plans yet."

Sometimes, Andrea reflected, it was good to belong to a dynasty where nobody cared about asking permission of anyone, sovereign or otherwise, before marrying.

"They can't say no, can they?" Harry asked. "Not after they let you and Guillaume go ahead with it. Your siblings are really harmless in comparison."

Cocking his head, Amedeo looked at him. "As though we're that bad," he said mildly, but Andrea caught an undercurrent of something dangerous. You did not mess with a Habsburg if you could avoid it; hopefully Harry had learned that lesson as well. "Andrea, you wanted to talk to me?"

"If Harry doesn't mind?" Andrea asked.

Harry waved off. "Go ahead, plot whatever you need to plot, I'll see if Fred is still sitting in the fish pond."

"We just got him out, so don't make him plop down there again."

"Pity, I wanted to get him to sing 'Under the Sea' again. Ah well, I'll find something to do, don't worry."

They watched him wander off, wary looks on their faces. "I think that should be considered a threat," Andrea said eventually.

Amedeo nodded in agreement. "Especially with Alex not here to hold the leash. Better hope he doesn't get up to any Harry-style insanities before you can send him back to London. So what is it you need me for?"

"I just wanted to know if you've heard from Wills and Carl in the last few days. I could ask Harry, but I'm not sure he'd get my point."

Sighing, Amedeo hid behind his wine glass for a second and suddenly looked every inch the prim and proper prince consort. "I know what you mean," he said eventually, more serious than Andrea was used to from him. "And I wish I had an answer for you, but I've had no luck reaching Carl for almost two weeks now, and Wills isn't in a talkative mood either. I take it you've run into the same situation?"

"More or less. I caught Carl a few days ago, but he sounded stressed out of his mind." And hadn't been at all forthcoming about whether everything was all right or not, which was enough to make Andrea nervous. His friend usually was a lot more willing to talk, even when caught in a bad mood or after a fight.

Amedeo set his glass down and leaned back against the windowsill, arms folded across his chest. "Trouble is, the press is still after the story. That pregnancy test they caught Wills buying in Australia is a problem in itself, and I don't get why they won't at least hint at an explanation. Add to that Carl's dinner with his ex and the fact that he and Wills haven't been spotted together outside of a few official events since Wills came back from Down Under..."

Andrea grimaced. "Doesn't help that Carl looks uneasy in his photos most of the time even when everything's fine." That this hadn't improved in any way after a decade of solid media attention was confusing Andrea considerably; surely Carl had to get used to it all at some point. But if he had, he wasn't making any effort to look relaxed for photo sessions. Too much of a deep-rooted dislike at the press, which really wasn't the easiest attitude to have when married to the future King of England.

"He's not going to bother changing his tune at this point," Amedeo said. "Never mind that it would help. Have you had any reporters ask you about them yet?"

Andrea shook his head. "Not so far. And I don't think they will, they haven't figured out yet that Tatiana and I are more than acquaintances when it comes to Wills and Carl. You?"

"It's starting and I don't like that at all, especially when I can't grab hold of Wills long enough to find out what he wants me to say. I've been pretending to be clueless, but if this goes on then it's not going to work for much longer once they all begin speculating in earnest." Amedeo sounded deeply serious, which was a thorough warning to Andrea. A situation had to be dire for their pet archduke to stop treating it with at least a hint of irony, but right now there wasn't the faintest suggestion of amusement to his tone. "If this carries on, they're going to start looking at Guillaume and me in comparison and I really could do without that. I like being boring and inconspicuous."

Chuckling, Andrea stepped forward to perch on the windowsill as well. "The press actually believes that of you?"

Amedeo treated him to a haughty look backed by a millennium of dynastic arrogance and tempered only by the way he couldn't quite keep the corner of his mouth from twitching with a smile. "They think I am perfectly well-behaved, proper and polite," he said. "And Guillaume, too."

"Guillaume isn't a surprise. You, on the other hand..." Andrea shook his head. "Press people."

"It's not like they usually bother to fact check" Amedeo agreed. "Which is going to turn into a problem for Wills and Carl. Once the vultures make up their mind that one is cheating on the other, never mind the truth. Though what that is..."

Andrea shook his head. "No way," he said firmly.

Amedeo shrugged a little helplessly. "I don't think so either, but they got themselves into a mess there and I'm not sure waiting it out is going to be enough. It might blow over by Christmas if there's some other news to replace it, or if they manage to look like everything's all right."

"Let's hope it does," Andrea said, a sinking feeling to his heart that wasn't relieved at all by Amedeo's serious expression. "I really don't want to imagine the alternative."

***

Andrea's concerns were eased to some extent when he finally managed to reach Wills and Carl on the phone a week later. If they were having a prolonged fight or an estrangement, he didn't think he'd have caught them in bed with each other in the middle of the day. It went a long way to soothe his worries, just like seeing them on the pictures of the Nobel Prize ceremony did. Seated firmly in the safety of the second row, flanked by Wills and Madeleine, Carl looked utterly content throughout the ceremony, though not necessarily like he was paying attention to what was going on. One specific picture which showed Wills brushing his fingers against Carl's wrist, and Carl's small smile in return, should have been enough proof for the press that everything was all right.

Not that the press believed it, of course. Negative news sold better than stories of how nothing was wrong, and so they kept spinning their speculations, though they toned it down somewhat.

"It's annoying," Carl said when Andrea and Tatiana talked to him and Wills late one night in a three-way phone conference between Stockholm, Monaco and a military base somewhere in Wales. "I'm stuck in Sweden, Wills is stuck on SAR duty, and the media think we're doing it on purpose."

"How much longer?" Tatiana asked, while Wills made soothing noises at his husband.

"Christmas, we'll get a break then and a few quieter days. And until then, we'll just have to grit our teeth and keep going." Carl paused. "I wouldn't mind some distraction, you know."

Tatiana laughed and snuggled closer to Andrea, who was only too happy to cuddle her close. He'd been growled at far too often for even trying, these past few weeks. "Are you saying that to us or to Wills?"

"To you. Wills can distract me once we're in the same country again. Come on, you can admit it to us."

"Admit what?" Tatiana teased. "That I'm looking forward to New Year's with you two?"

"Carl..." That was Wills, a hint of caution in his voice.

Andrea and Tatiana exchanged swift glances. "You might as well tell them," he murmured in her ear. "I don't think he'll stop out of his own volition."

Tatiana half huffed, half laughed. "Fine. Carl, I'm pregnant. Happy now?"

There was a moment of silence from their friends, then, "See, I knew it! You owe me ten pounds." Another pause, followed by a chuckle from Wills and "Oh, and congratulations to the two of you, of course."

Leaning against Andrea, Tatiana murmured, "Do you think we should tell him that he already knew it when there was nothing to know?"

Andrea shook his head. "I wouldn't bother. But we should make sure we get our share of those ten pounds."

***

The day before New Year's Eve, Tatiana and Andrea kissed Stefano goodbye before handing him over to his grandmother, then flew north into the icy realm of the Arctic. Or Scotland, which, as far as Andrea was concerned, amounted to the same: too bloody cold.

"I should never have let you trick me into coming to Scotland," he complained to Tatiana while they waited for their friends to collect them from the airport in Glasgow.

She gave him an entirely unrepentant smile. "You knew we'd visit Wills and Carl," she said.

"Yes, but I thought we'd visit in London!"

Reaching up, she petted his hair, her thick thermo jacket rustling with the motion. It was a sound Andrea absolutely detested; he didn't like clothing that made noise, especially when it was the sort of stuff you had to wear to keep yourself from death by transforming into an icicle. "You'll survive it," she said. "You've survived all the skiing vacations."

"Barely," he grumbled, hands firmly stuffed into his pockets.

The trip from Glasgow to the cottage Carl and Wills owned up in the highlands took another three hours, which Andrea spent mostly shivering under the vastly insufficient blanket provided while chatting with Wills and Amedeo, who were sharing the car with him. An hour into the ride, he threw caution into the wind and inched as close to Amedeo as the safety belt allowed, until he fancied he felt at least a little bit warmer.

"You realise that all the layers you're wearing should be keeping you warm enough and that the car has heating, right?" Wills asked from the passenger seat.

Andrea gave him a pitiful look. "That's easy for you to say, you married a Swede. It's cold."

"It's Scotland, of course it's cold," Wills said without even a hint of mercy. "Amedeo, shove him off if he's bothering you."

"I think I can handle him," Amedeo replied, and Andrea seized the opportunity to get under the blanket, even though that didn't help all that much. He should have known better than to share the back seat with a scrawny archduke; the three passengers in the other car would all have been much better choices in terms of body heat. Surely even Guillaume would have seen the need to keep him from freezing to death.

Once at the cottage, Andrea abandoned Amedeo for a more effective source of heat, even though attaching himself firmly to Wills produced far more grumbling than it should have.

"I'm cold," he murmured when Wills attempted to dislodge him, and held on more tightly to his wonderfully warm friend. Plastered against him like this from hip to shoulder, hands tucked inside his collar, Andrea finally didn't have any immediate fears of dying around here.

Wills tried to twist away from him. "There's heating. We've lit a fire. For heaven's sake, Carl is wandering around in a t-shirt, don't you think you are exaggerating a little?"

Andrea shook his head. "No," he said resolutely and pressed closer.

Another minute, then Wills seemed to resign himself to the situation. "Don't think this is a permanent agreement."

"Only while it's cold," Andrea murmured, doing his best to hide his smile when Wills accepted that condition. Appealing to his protective nature always got him; Andrea figured that as long as he looked miserable, he'd be permitted to keep his human heat source around. With Tatiana again in a growly mood, he needed this sort of alternative.

Huffing, Wills muttered something incomprehensible, then dragged him along to the main room and stopped in front of the fireplace. Heat, glorious heat, and Andrea tentatively loosened his grip a little. It wasn't that he didn't know he was exaggerating, but it was simply fun to play a bit. Carl would have been even warmer, but Wills got possessive around his husband after all, and cuddling with Carl tended to be a slippery slope. Better avoid that temptation altogether.

Andrea eventually permitted Wills to abandon him on the rug before the fireplace, close enough for the flames to warm his face. It was a feature he didn't have in Monaco, or even in their house in Saint-Rémy, and normally he didn't miss it. But right now he highly appreciated the sensation of almost scalding heat on the skin of his face and hands as he soaked up the warmth. It was a good thing Monaco wasn't a Scandinavian country, or he'd have had to dump the whole heir business on Pierre and head for warmer shores.

"Decided to become sensible, have you?" Guillaume asked from the doorway.

Turning around, Andrea did a double take when he spotted their Hereditary Grand Duke, for once in jeans and a sweater rather than his ubiquitous suit. "What happened to you?"

"Amedeo happened to my wardrobe," Guillaume grumbled, moving gingerly as he walked over to the wide couch, almost as if he didn't quite trust his clothes. "He decided to re-pack and failed to mention that to me."

"It's not like you'll run into a lot of formal events up here," Andrea pointed out, very sensibly he thought. "Jeans are much more practical."

Guillaume didn't look convinced. "He could have mentioned it."

"And you'd not have listened. He worries about you, that's all." Drawing up one leg, Andrea wrapped his hands around his knee as he studied his friend. "You still look like crap, you know?"

"Don't you start, too. William was enough already." Guillaume crossed his arms defensively, but didn't retreat. Instead he sat down on the edge of the couch, eyes on Andrea. "I had a cold. It happens."

Andrea cocked his head. "Must have been some cold," he drawled. Two weeks of influenza-induced bed rest, if Amedeo - backed by Guillaume's official work schedule - was to be believed, but of course that would never be admitted. "But in that case, sweaters surely are better than shirts and suits. Are you all right now?"

Guillaume's expression turned blank. "Of course I am," he said decisively, then a coughing attack ruined the careful facade.

Rolling his eyes, Andrea watched him for a few seconds before getting up to fetch him a glass of water from the kitchen. He didn't spot any others on the way; Tatiana had lain down for a nap, he knew, but where the other three had gone, he had no idea. Outside perhaps; Wills had said something about horses earlier.

"Here," he said, offering the glass. Guillaume cast him an unreadable look, then accepted it with a nod of thanks, drinking once his coughing had subsided a little. "You need to take care of yourself," he said, perching on the low wooden couch table. "Otherwise, who'll write my notes?"

Guillaume almost smiled at that; he caught himself just in time, but Andrea could have sworn he saw a hint of it. "It's about time you work out how to do that yourself."

"But it's so much more efficient, and you colour-code yours so nicely. My own would never look that neat." Andrea had, in fact, done his best to copy Guillaume's system for his own purposes by now and was faring quite well, but he wasn't about to mention that. "Wills does have a point, you know? You need to be careful if something like a little cold can floor you for that long."

"I've had enough fussing, thank you," Guillaume snapped.

It was the sort of tone that might have worked if Andrea weren't hearing exactly that sentiment from Tatiana on a daily basis these days. "I'm not fussing, I'm just saying that your friends would prefer it if you didn't work yourself into an early grave. Believe it or not, but we'd miss you."

Guillaume looked wary at that, the way he tended to do whenever he wasn't certain what to make of comments of a more personal nature. "It's not like that. But I've got duties I need to take care of. Perhaps the last two weeks were a little crowded, but I missed too much time earlier in the month with that cold."

Not rolling his eyes took a major effort. "You know, other people miss time too and just move on. I thought Amedeo and your brother dealt with it in your stead?"

"They did, but it's still my responsibility." There was an odd undercurrent to Guillaume's voice at that, not quite frustrated, not quite tired, but not his usual smooth tone either. "I'm not going to explain this to you."

Andrea gave him a patient smile almost entirely devoid of teasing. "No-one's saying you have to. But have you ever wondered why we all keep nagging you about it? It's not like we're doing it because it's fun, and I doubt Amedeo gets his kicks out of arguing with you over your workaholism." He paused. "If he actually does, I don't want to know."

Guillaume huffed with irritation, a stupid move since it dragged him right into another cough. "It's none of your business. What do you want, anyway?"

Andrea shrugged. "For you to figure out that you're on holiday with your husband and your friends and that you're allowed to relax and enjoy this. Surely you don't need me to tell you that? I'd really rather not find Amedeo spitting mad again because you're working yourself to the bone, he's too scary by half when he's pissed off."

A frown had gradually deepened on Guillaume's face, but at the last sentence it vanished and was replaced by confusion. "You think he's scary?"

"You mean you haven't noticed?" Andrea shook his head, not quite managing to hide his amusement. "Ah well, you're sleeping with him so it's probably for the best if he doesn't actually frighten you."

Guillaume visibly wavered between amusement and irritation, but seemed incapable of making up his mind on which way to jump.

"Anyway, all we're hoping for is that you'll relax a little." Getting up, Andrea patted his shoulder in a friendly fashion. "Just think about it, all right?" he said before heading upstairs to see whether Tatiana would permit some more fussing.

They spent the rest of the afternoon and evening unwinding together, and Andrea even let himself be talked into a brief walk after dinner when Tatiana seemed eager to go. Why she'd want to head out into the dark, cold night he had no idea, but when Wills and Carl didn't protest and Amedeo and Guillaume went along with it as well, he could hardly stay behind. And it was nice in a way, all glittering stars and moonlight on the snow-covered hills, but it was also far too remote and lonely for Andrea's taste. He'd become used to the anthill that was Monaco; not seeing lights of houses anywhere nearby was too strange for comfort.

"Don't tell me you're still cold," Wills said with plenty of disbelief in his voice when Andrea swiftly reclaimed the spot in front of the fireplace once they headed back inside. "It's Scotland, not Antarctica."

"Are you sure?" Andrea asked, demonstratively huddling close to the fire. "I think I may have seen a polar bear or two."

"There are no polar bears at the South Pole."

"They migrate, I bet. I'm sure they grow bored of seeing the same old icebergs every day." Rubbing his hands, Andrea gave Wills a wide-eyed, pleading look. "Tell me it will be warmer tomorrow."

Wills sighed. "It will be warmer tomorrow. Tatiana, how long until he gets over this?"

Tatiana cast him an indulgent smile. "A day or two usually. Best hope it doesn't snow tomorrow."

Andrea shivered theatrically at the idea and pretended not to hear Carl's laugh or the amused murmur from Amedeo. Their pet archduke wasn't in any position to tease, anyway, not when he'd remained glued to Guillaume's side for the last few hours with the occasional comment about body heat.

"Andrea, you do realise that in order to leave, you'll actually need to go outside, right?" Carl asked. He was comfortably sprawled on one of the sofas, head pillowed in his husband's lap, and looked thoroughly pleased with the world in general and his current position in particular.

"I can wait until spring," Andrea said firmly. "The snow's got to melt eventually."

"And leave me to deal with your idiot uncle in the meantime?" Tatiana growled. "I don't think so. You're coming back home with me the day after tomorrow, no matter how many coats you need to wear to survive the experience."

Amedeo chuckled. "I wouldn't argue with that if I were you," he said, then turned a little more serious. "How are things standing on that front, anyway?"

"Albert?" Tatiana shrugged. "He doesn't think we're having random affairs with royal friends this time, that's progress. I'm still not sure if he doesn't think Stefano is the result of my wild night with Harry when I had to console myself about Andrea carrying on a torrid romance with Guillaume."

Even Guillaume looked amused at that. Andrea didn't know whether to feel pleased or insulted.

"The difficult bit for him to swallow is that we're getting a lot of attention that he feels should belong to him," he said. "As though we're doing it deliberately. But it's making him petty, and that's not helping in any way."

It was an understatement, too, but Andrea didn't want to go into too much detail about all the trouble with Albert, not at this time and place. They'd all come here to relax and enjoy themselves, after all.

"I've said it before, I'll say it again," Guillaume spoke up. "Stage a coup. It will save you a lot of effort in the long run."

"Do I need to start rallying the troops?" Amedeo asked with a curious glance at his husband.

Guillaume shook his head. "Of course not, Paps is perfectly sensible. Prince Albert, on the other hand, is a problem and if you follow the philosophy of the prince serving the country and not the country serving the prince, then it follows that something needs to be done the remedy that situation."

"Have you been reading Machiavelli again?" Tatiana wanted to know. "You aren't going to try and annex anyone, are you?"

"As though I'd bother," Guillaume waved off, sounding far too casual about it all for Andrea's peace of mind. "Luxembourg is quite enough, thank you. But it makes sense for Andrea; either he takes an active position, or he'll end up being blamed for whatever mess Prince Albert leaves him with."

Andrea frowned at him. "Last year you said I don't absolutely have to engineer a take-over."

"Last year your uncle was still showing some common sense," Guillaume said bluntly. "He's stopped doing so, and under those circumstances, you may have to choose the path that's best for Monaco as a whole."

It was a vote of confidence - of some sort - that Guillaume considered him the better option. Then again, compared to Albert, almost anyone would be the better option. "I'm not going to stage a coup right now."

"Not yet," Guillaume said. "But you'll change your mind eventually."

Amedeo stepped in at that point and steered the conversation back to lighter topics, but Guillaume's comment stuck with Andrea for the rest of the evening. And when he lay in bed later that night, Tatiana curled up by his side and producing the occasional faint snuffling noise, he couldn't shake off the growing realisation that Guillaume had a point. Escape was no longer an option.

It made for a rather sobering thought, and really not something he wanted to deal with right now.

With a sigh, he carefully rolled away from Tatiana and out of bed, wincing when his bare feet hit the icy floor. Scotland. Whyever had they thought coming to Scotland in the middle of winter was a good idea? He couldn't think of an answer as he crept out into the hallway in his t-shirt and sweatpants, cautious not to make any noise that might wake Tatiana and bring the wrath of God down on his head, and deservedly so.

Once he had the door to their room drawn shut behind himself again, he breathed a little more easily and headed for the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. Leave it to Guillaume to give him a sleepless night, he thought as he slowly drank, shifting from one foot to the other to avoid the cold tiles.

Outside in the hallway, the light went on and a few moments later a blearily blinking Wills peered into the kitchen, hair on end and wearing only boxers. The sight alone was enough to make Andrea shiver.

"Something wrong?" Wills asked, his voice a tired rumble.

Andrea shook his head. "Just getting some water. Sorry if I woke you."

"Nah, s'okay." Wills slowly turned around again then stopped, frowning down at Andrea's feet. "You really are exaggerating, you know?"

"It's cold," Andrea said, heartfelt and with great sincerity.

Wills rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh. "Come on, we've got a few spare pairs of woollen socks. Those Scandinavan knitted ones, that's got to be enough."

"That's nice of you, but-"

"Socks, Andrea," Wills said in the sort of tone that didn't invite protest. "And then let me sleep."

***

Everyone had settled into a more vacation-suitable frame of mind by next morning, and the mood lasted for the rest of the day. With the sun shining from a cloudless sky, Andrea even deemed it acceptable to venture outdoors again for an hour or two, and it was almost fun until Carl remembered his childish streak and threw the first snow ball.

From that point on, things rapidly went downhill. They all were careful not to take aim at Tatiana, which only meant that she could choose targets at her pleasure and with no fear whatsoever of retaliation. Much to Andrea's horror, it meant that after a few well-aimed shots in his defence, he found himself cruelly stabbed in the back when she used his trust in her faithful support to stuff a handful of snow down his collar. He was still wriggling in an attempt to get away from that wet, icy cold down his spine when she turned on Guillaume next and within seconds had him spitting snow and muttering in a very undignified fashion after a double strike from her and Wills.

After that it descended into a no-holds-barred, all-out war. It was a good thing there were no paps lurking anywhere in the bushes (not that there actually were any bushes where they could have been lurking), or they'd have been treated to the sign of the future King of England, Prince of Monaco and Grand Duke of Luxembourg, along with their esteemed consorts, caught up in an epic snowball fight. As it was, the only people who were disturbed by all the shouting, flailing and shrieking were the British security officers, who stoically watched their assigned charges behave like five-year-olds.

"We need to do that again," Andrea insisted that evening when they were all safe, warm and dry once more and waiting for midnight and the turn of the year. "Only perhaps without anyone stuffing snow down my pants. That was _not_ nice."

Carl treated him an angelic smile from his spot in the armchair, with Wills on the floor in front of him, comfortably leaning against his legs. "It's good for the circulation," he said.

"Yeah, sure," Andrea muttered into his hot tea - unspiced out of loyalty to Tatiana, who'd already watched with considerably envy when they'd had beer with their pizza earlier. "Wills, tell him he isn't allowed to."

Wills sighed. "Carl, you aren't allowed to make Andrea freeze his balls off," he said mildly, eyes falling shut when Carl petted his thinning hair. "You realise that next year it's going to be cold, too, right? But if you think you can survive that, I'll see if we can work something out."

"Count us in too," Amedeo said cheerfully, then yelped and ducked his head when Guillaume flicked his ear. "Ouch. What? We might as well get a few more years in, it's not like this can last forever. You and Andrea are going to have to be dutiful soon enough."

The way Guillaume barely bothered to frown at him in reply said that this was an old argument between those two, and one they no longer had any interest in rehashing.

"We'll give it a try then," Tatiana declared. "Same time, same place, next year. Only we'll try to bring Stefano and the new peanut."

Which reminded Andrea of something he'd been thinking about for a few days now in relation to that, so when they all gathered by the wide southern windowfront to watch the small fireworks down by the village, he stepped up to Guillaume and drew him aside.

"Plotting something?" Guillaume asked dryly.

Andrea rolled his eyes. "Always this suspicion," he sighed with plenty of drama behind it. "But actually... yes, in a way. I wanted to ask whether you'll be godfather to our new peanut." He raised a hand. "And before you ask, I know the political implications of it, but you're our friend and that's why we're asking, first and foremost."

Guillaume didn't say anything in reply, long enough to begin making him nervous. From where she was standing with Carl, Tatiana threw them a watchful glance before turning back to the window.

"So this isn't just concern over appearance rather than substance?" Guillaume asked eventually, tone pitched low.

Andrea was puzzled for a second at the odd turn of phrase, then realisation dawned on him, along with the memory of their first encounter all that time ago that had gone so disastrously wrong. Guillaume had thrown just that in his face then, along with a few other choice remarks that hadn't failed to find their mark.

"I've got more responsibilities than just my own life now," he countered, and it spoke volumes to his mind that they both still recalled that morning in enough detail for that. Perhaps they ought to have dealt with it before letting sixteen years pass.

Guillaume shot him a wry smile and briefly bowed his head in acknowledgment. "In that case, I'd be honoured."

Leaning in, Andrea affectionately pecked him on the cheek before he could retreat to a safe distance, and Guillaume stoically endured. "Thank you. We, too." He paused, blinking innocently. "See, now you can make sure the next Grimaldi generation will grow up all properly behaved."

The look he received in turn was usually reserved for Amedeo's antics. "About time, too."

***  
 _January 2020_  
***

After the New Year's break was over, the rush of official engagements and public duties came back with a vengeance, and Andrea spent far too many days torn between doing what was expected of him and carving out at least a modicum of private life. Tatiana and Stefano still had first priority, but it was such a struggle to keep them in that spot that it sometimes left him breathless. But he wasn't going to retreat even a fraction from his stated position that as long as he had no official role, he'd only do as much as he judged acceptable for his family as well as himself.

Albert, of course, did not understand in the least why Andrea would make such a production of juggling schedules. As far as he was concerned, Tatiana should simply be given the duties of handling the children while Andrea took care of more important matters; an attitude that made both Andrea and Tatiana glad that he seemed to have given up on legitimate offspring for good. At least Albert had only dared to voice that opinion once - Andrea's mother had overheard it and spent the next hour setting him straight on why they were doing exactly the right thing. Since Andrea figured that he and his siblings had turned out well despite the circumstances of their childhood and family, she really held the upper hand in that particular discussion.

Nonetheless, he was only too aware that he couldn't afford to lose any hard-won ground at this point in the game, and so some compromises had to be found. Like two days a week in Monaco for Tatiana and Stefano, fiercely guarded by Pierre against any and all intrusions and irritations whenever Andrea was tied up with official matters. Or the addition of noontime naps to Andrea's plans when Stefano came to visit, along with a small but constantly growing assortment of age-appropriate toys in a chest in Andrea's office.

(Stefano had gotten into a package intended for Wills and Carl once. Andrea had spent half an hour frantically scrubbing edible glitter paint off a giggling toddler, and was still praying Tatiana wouldn't find out about that.)

It didn't take long for his schedule adaptations to be noticed by the people occupying the offices surrounding the one he'd claimed as his own for three years now. Most of them were part of that rare breed of Monegasque politicians who actually performed some sort of work -as opposed to swarming around Albert to get things done in their favour - and Andrea generally felt fairly comfortable around them. But there were a few exceptions, it turned out when one afternoon well into January, he came back from lunch with Tatiana half an hour earlier than usual, and found a member of Albert's coterie of flunkies just leaving his office, a sheaf of papers in hand.

"Monsieur Tournai," he called out, and had the satisfaction of seeing the man flinch. It was one of the younger hangers-on, the next generation who were jockeying for position in Albert's inner circle and ready to move in whenever one of the old foxes retired.

"Monsieur Casiraghi... I'd just come to see you, but you weren't in."

Andrea treated him to a sharp smile. "Obviously," he drawled, nodding at the paper stack. "Is that for me?"

Tournai hastily shook his head. "No, that's my work for the afternoon. Irrigation matters."

Andrea raised an eyebrow. "Irrigation."

"Yes, for the orange trees..." Tournai floundered for a second, but Andrea had to give him points for quick recovery, "in the Jardin Exotique."

"And those need your personal attention?"

"Always. It pays to do these things yourself and have them done properly."

Andrea's smile sharpened further. "Just so," he agreed kindly. "Well, don't let me keep you. But I'd like to have copies of your findings on the irrigation."

It was almost amusing to see Tournai beat a hasty retreat.

Almost.

Andrea waited until the man had fled around the next corner, then cautiously pushed the door to his office open, waited for a second and finally stepped inside. Nothing out of order at first glance, so he took a few steps to the centre of the room and had a careful look. The meeting table in the corner held only a few scattered sheets of cheerful drawings from Stefano and Carl - or communal efforts of both of them - Andrea hadn't gotten around to clearing away yet, so he paid that little heed. If anyone was interested in his son's sketching skills, they probably wouldn't be able to use that information to cause trouble.

The closets all locked, and even Alexandra - who knew her way around lock picks, though Andrea didn't intend to ever find out why - hadn't managed to pry them open, so those should be safe as well. Which left his desk, which was devoid of files ever since Stefano had used official documents as colouring paper, but held his laptop.

Which Andrea hadn't shut down or at least locked. Careless, and he'd deserve the lecture he was about to get. Digging out his phone, he wandered over to the printer and saw that it had run out of paper, when he knew that hadn't been the case earlier.

"Andrea," his brother greeted him cheerfully, and there were voices in the background, along with what sounded almost like waves and seagulls. Andrea spared a second to think about the temperatures that made beach excursions unattractive even along the Mediterranean, then reminded himself that this was Pierre.

"I've got a problem," he said.

Pierre's voice immediately turned serious. "What problem?"

"Someone wandered into my office while I wasn't here and had a look at my computer. Printed stuff, too. Tournai, that fox-faced snot who's been trying to impress Albert lately."

A muttered curse, then the voices grew distant as Pierre presumably walked away to get some privacy. "Don't touch anything," he said. "I'll have one of the company experts come over and take a look, that should tell us what the little bastard was after. And Andrea?"

There it was. "Yes?" he asked, steeling himself for the reprimands.

"Get yourself an assistant you can trust, someone who babysits your office while you're gone. Who knows, they might even help with that mess you call a filing system."

"I like my system," Andrea protested. "I know where everything is, it's hardly my fault that nobody else sees it for the genius approach it is."

"Well, right now it may have saved you from greater trouble if it created enough of a chaos," Pierre allowed. "But promise me that I can get you an assistant."

Sometimes there was no point in arguing with Pierre, and this sounded like one of those moments. Andrea wondered whether he ought to point out that he could choose his own secretaries, but decided against it. Leave that to Pierre; whoever his brother found was bound to be suitable and trustworthy, even if Andrea wasn't going to ask about their background. With his family, ignorance could be so much bliss.

Two hours later, two of Pierre's experts had come by, tinkered with Andrea's notebook and with the printer, and had presented him with a list of files which had been accessed and printed. A lecture on data protection, its delivery commanded by Pierre, then they were gone again and left Andrea to figure out how much damage had been done.

"Seems like that little bastard was looking for whatever incriminating stuff he could find," Tatiana observed that evening, when Andrea showed her the lists of files. "Look, he accessed a lot of them but he didn't print all those."

Andrea shrugged. "It's not like he can have much use for most of them. Theodora's list of the ten best restaurants in Athens? Hardly a state secret. And I see he didn't think Guillaume's instructions on how to colour-coordinate ties and shirts are worth another look either."

"A pity," Tatiana said, still bent over the list. "Is there anything controversial about the files he printed? Those are your schedules, they're hardly a state secret, but what about the rest?"

Frowning, Andrea considered the documents. "Those are all research for appointments I had to do, nothing in there that could cause problems," he said, pointing at the first batch. "I guess he was hopeful, but they're harmless. That one is for the Rose Ball, Mama's details for the evening."

"No state secret either, but she'll be furious if that gets leaked before time." Tatiana leaned back and cast a quick look over to Stefano, who was happily sitting on the central carpet in their living room and playing with his wooden train set. "Are you keeping anything sensitive in there?"

With all the plans and plots for the future, Andrea knew there were plenty of lists in existence of all the things that needed to be done, the people who needed to be removed from their posts, the measures to implement. But all those were in the care of his mother, and she, Pierre and Andrea had agreed to never bring them into the Palais Princier. That was simply too dangerous; you never knew who might come spying. Andrea just hadn't expected it to be one of the flunkies, and to make it so obvious.

"It's all general information," he said. "That's last year's budget and the notes Guillaume and Amedeo helped me with, and this is Carl's description on how to get to his apartment in Stockholm. The schedule for the Cannes festival last year, the invitation of the Oceanographic Museum for last week... Damn. That might be it."

"The museum?" Tatiana asked dubiously.

"No, next one." Andrea tapped the entry in question. "Construction projects. Pierre and I talked about it a few days ago and he later sent me a few notes. Nothing discriminating in itself, but when you look at the direction we were thinking about..."

"The harbour project?" Tatiana asked.

Andrea nodded. It was one of the main areas of disagreement between himself and Pierre on the one side, and Albert on the other: the land reclamation project of Le Portier, which Andrea and Pierre considered essential and Albert had waved off as too time-consuming and convoluted to show quick results. He'd favoured tearing down one of the older neighbourhoods instead to modernise it and attract a wealthier group of residents, a strategy that had sent the current inhabitants into a panicked frenzy. For weeks, Andrea had had visits from worried Monegasques requesting that he talk to his uncle since they couldn't find a way to do so. He'd promised to do his best to redirect the attention to the land reclamation and away from rebuilding old neighbourhoods, and he'd been almost ready to make his move.

"How did they find out about it?" he wondered out loud. "I haven't made any moves yet."

Tatiana gave him the sort of look that said he was missing a really obvious answer. "You've been talking to people, you've done research, you asked to be shown the old plans... Occasionally someone actually pays attention to what you do."

He glanced at her. "Point taken. So what now? Albert's not going to be amused."

She sighed. "That's an understatement. You're countering his own plans, he's never figured out how to deal with that except to complain and try to make the problem go away. Which isn't good if the problem is you."

"That's... damn it, they might actually have thought this through." Burying his face in his hands for a moment, Andrea took a deep breath before looking up again. "So Uncle Albert's going to find out that I'm backing the Le Portier project and that I'm against his new skyscraper. And he'll throw a tantrum and sulk and... I don't know what else he might do."

And that was the problem. There was no way to guess what Albert might decide - he could ignore it, he could choose to see reason for once (unlikely as it was) or he could just go and show his displeasure. Which in turn could mean anything from a scolding to kicking Andrea out of the line of succession. It wasn't that hard to figure out which way the flunkies were hoping it would go.

He hadn't thought he'd actually given them the feeling that he was that much of a danger so far. They had to realise that someone had to come after Albert and that it was bound to be him, after his mother. Andrea had played along so far, he'd done what was asked of him and hadn't protested too much even at the most idiotic tasks. Building a profile for himself was something he'd tried to do, but he'd done it subtly, without making a great production of it, and he'd been careful not to do so at the cost of Albert's own. It was hardly his fault that the Monegasques viewed him as a positive future development by now, and that they were all waiting for him to eventually succeed to the throne; he wasn't doing anything except being dutiful. Nobody could hold that against him, but that wasn't going to stop Albert, he knew.

"Has Albert ordered you to see him yet?" Tatiana asked.

Andrea shook his head. "No. But he's still in Moscow for that eco trade fair, he'll only be back tomorrow evening."

Tilting her head thoughtfully, Tatiana considered that. "They won't bug him while he's abroad, he'll be in a good mood and he might just dismiss it. They'll wait until he's back in Monaco and cranky that he's got to be here. Hearing that you're undermining his position is going to be much more effective if they do it then."

"Great to hear. So you think we've got a bit of breathing space?"

"A day, perhaps two." Tatiana looked at him seriously. "You need to talk to Pierre and to your mother and figure out the battle plan."

***

The battle plan as such turned out to be rather straightforward. Which was good, because Andrea didn't have the patience to turn this into some complicated exercise of subterfuge just to please his uncle.

"Go talk to him," his mother advised during that evening's war council with Tatiana, Andrea and Pierre, held in her kitchen. "It's not going to make things any worse, and perhaps he'll be startled enough at the bluntness to let you get away with it."

"And if not?" Andrea asked.

"Then we'll have to take other steps," Pierre said grimly. "But for now, do your best to sweet-talk him into forgiving you."

Andrea frowned at his brother. "You're involved in Le Portier as much as I am. More, you're actually going to do the building."

"But I'd also build his skyscraper," Pierre said with a shrug. For him it was as simple as that; if you were the CEO of Monaco's biggest construction company, then there was no real way around you and Albert knew better than to try. The last time he'd attempted to sneak a project past Pierre, the result had been a company merger within a month. "Albert doesn't think I've got a preference either way. You, on the other hand are in a much more clear-cut position."

Their mother nodded in agreement. "And you should not have let yourself caught in it. I taught you better than that."

There had, in fact, never been any lessons in how to sneakily usurp your uncle's throne, but Andrea didn't bother to point that out. Her instructions had never been that specific; nonetheless there'd been plenty of time spent on how to move in political and diplomatic circles and on how to navigate the viper's nest Monaco could be. Andrea had never asked his friends whether they dealt with similar issues at their respective courts, but he could have a guess at the answer. Luxembourg probably was fairly simple, with everyone well-established, no factions among the ruling family and a clear-cut line of succession. The United Kingdom, on the other hand... Andrea had watched Wills and Carl struggle to deal with Charles for years now, and everyone with half a brain could see that it was only going to get worse in the future. Add to that all the people with vested interests in either keeping that court running as it was now or making significant alterations at the next opportunity, and you had a recipe for a lot of tension.

Monaco had to top it all, of course. A Prince without a legitimate heir but with a few children born out of wedlock, who might all be seduced into trying for the throne by claiming Great-Grandmother Charlotte as precedent. An older princess who was not ruling simply because of the male-preference succession law, and who'd never given up her power base in the country. A government which consisted almost entirely of court members, all with their own goals and plans that tore the Conseil de la Couronne and Conseil de Gouvernement apart on a regular basis. And a people who felt that their ruling Prince was no longer particularly interested in the country in general and the born Monegasques in particular, and who were looking elsewhere for alternatives.

Andrea, as the generally agreed upon alternative, was caught up in the middle of it all along with Tatiana and Stefano and soon the little peanut. He sometimes wondered what his children would say about it all and whether in twenty years they'd understand the necessity of aiming for power, or wish that Andrea had chosen differently and let them live a private life.

But it was that awareness of being responsible for the next generation that made Andrea push ahead. He owed it to them to maintain the family position, and to do his best to improve their reputation again. They were all part of a tradition that had run for seven centuries and would continue in the future. Albert was leaving a difficult enough inheritance, and Andrea could not - _would not_ \- make himself ignore that. He would have let it go to Pierre instead of himself, but his brother had been set upon a different path in life already. Their fates had been decided a long time before it had become obvious that they'd have to step up and assume the positions their mother had selected for them.

For that reason, Andrea went to speak to his uncle early the next morning in the hope of catching him before he'd become weighed down by state issues and irritated at having to deal with such matters. For someone who hated doing the actual governing, Albert was amazingly determined not to let go of the reins of power. What the reasons behind that were, Andrea had never figured out - his uncle had not for a moment appeared to enjoy performing his duties as Prince. He liked some of the perks that came with the position, but most of them could have been achieved by simply throwing enough money at people. And from the way Albert tended to speak of his father, there also was not much of a sense of filial obligation, pride in past achievements of the house or the awareness that he'd been born to serve the principality.

It really didn't make it any easier to figure out what approach to take with him. That morning, waiting in the small antechamber to Albert's office, Andrea mentally went through a number of different strategies but couldn't settle on a single one. His mother's advice to take control of the situation from the start and simply present Albert with the facts was the one he knew he wasn't going to use, but other than that, he had no clue what to do.

He was just about to get seriously anxious about that when his uncle's assistant - a new one, and Andrea could have sworn they got younger, blonder and more voluptuous every month - asked him to come with her. Walking in front of him, she led him through the French doors of Albert's office, announced him and then left with just as much formal pomp and circumstance. Andrea didn't dare turn around for fear of catching her in a deep curtsy.

The furniture had changed once again; last autumn's modern interior had given way to baroque pieces now, with curlicues, gilt and red velvet everywhere, making the room feel small and chaotic.

"Andrea," his uncle said from behind his delicate desk - utterly devoid of paper, writing utensils and notebook - but made no move to get up as he usually did whenever they spoke uncle to nephew. Andrea took that cue for what it was and aimed for a polite nod and a carefully straight-backed stance on the other side of the desk.

"Uncle Albert," he returned carefully. "Thank you for seeing me."

His uncle waved a hand at the chair in front of Andrea, a simple affair with no arm rests and only a narrow seat, a sharp contrast to the cherrywood throne upholstered with purple velvet he himself was sitting on.

Andrea sat down and waited while Albert looked at him, a deepening frown on his face. Another second, then it was suddenly replaced with what he knew to be his uncle's attempt at a diplomatic poker face and which always made him look faintly constipated.

"I've heard rumours about you," Albert said. "Unpleasant rumours."

That wasn't one of the opening gambits Andrea had considered, so he needed a second to decide what to do about it. "What sort of rumours?" he hedged and hoped that Albert was merely fishing.

His uncle looked at him sternly. "That you're overstepping your boundaries and that you've tried to take an active role in my government."

Damn. Seemed that the flunkies had already found a chance to feed choice bits of information to Albert. It was anyone's guess what exactly they'd told him; all Andrea could be sure of was that it had been as disadvantageous s possible for him.

Leaning back, Andrea did his best to let his body language speak of certainty and ease. "In which way?"

"That abandoned harbour project," Albert said. "You've been trying to push it forward. And at the same time you're openly against the essential restructuring down in La Condamine."

Essential. As essential as wings on a fish, but Andrea wisely kept his mouth shut about that. "I've done nothing except listen to people when they wanted to speak to me," he said. "You know how that goes, at every reception someone will come with a petition or a project of some sort."

And it had started that way, only there hadn't been just one or two people who'd approached him about the need for the land reclamation and the danger for the old quarter, but dozens. Enough to make Andrea take note and listen to what they had to say, and later talk it through with Pierre to figure out what to do about it. That had been an easy decision; even Andrea could see that new land made vast sense from an economical point of view, and that every traditional house lost in Monaco meant a needle prick to the city's attractiveness as a tourist destination. Tourists didn't care about yet another shopping mall, yet another high-rise. They wanted charming back alleys with clay oleander pots by the doors, cobblestone streets and local-looking people.

"You need to be careful who you listen to, in that case," Albert said. "I will not let anyone move against me."

"I'm not-"

"You're talking to people who are trying," Albert interrupted him. "You're still new to all this, perhaps you haven't noticed, but they are dangerous and they want to make me step down. You won't listen to them. You won't talk to them in any way. They'll use you as a figurehead, and I won't allow that."

Familial concern was what Andrea was supposed to hear at this point, but it was easy to guess why this mattered. Albert might not be a dutiful or talented ruler, but he could add up clues. If the local opposition began to recruit new people to their cause, then this was a danger. And if they tried to recruit the next realistic prince, as the line of succession currently stood, then this was a threat. Albert didn't like threats; he'd never learned how to deal with them. That he'd developed a deeply paranoid streak in the past years didn't help either.

"Uncle Albert," Andrea said firmly and did his best to keep his body language as open as possible. "As I said, I just listened to people. That's all I did. And the ones who talked to me are the ones who're going to lose their homes in La Condamine. They've got a right to be heard, don't you think?"

Albert waved his hand dismissively. "They'll be compensated quite nicely," he said. "Much more money than those old shanties are worth. Just wait, they'll see soon enough that they only profit from going with the times. We all will, the Grimaldi Tower is going to be part of Monaco's future."

Grimaldi Tower. Andrea suppressed a sigh at that. It should have been French, at the very least, but Albert was moving further and further away from that language. He'd never liked it much - yet another part of Monaco he never seemed to have come to terms with - and by now was no longer even bothering to pretend half of the time.

"Some of the studies say it could be more complicated than that," Andrea suggested carefully. "They say that the investment may not be amortised for thirty, forty years."

"The experts know better than that," Albert said. "Ten years at most. It's going to be fabulous."

Given that the calculations had come from Pierre's specialists, Andrea was inclined to disagree, but decided against saying so. It was the sort of argument he didn't want to get into with Albert, because it usually escalated far too quickly, sent his uncle into a sulk and didn't get them anywhere. "Yes, but... with the same amount of money you could finance Le Portier."

"That's perhaps true, but Le Portier wouldn't get us anywhere. If you'd looked at the specifications, you'd know that we could never have anything like the Grimaldi Tower there, the foundations couldn't go deep enough. Monaco needs a new addition to its skyline. We must think in grand dimensions."

"But Grandfather's biggest building project was the land reclamation in Fontvielle. Surely that's grand?"

Albert's eyes narrowed. "That was the past," he said. "We must look at the future. Something different. Let your grandfather be associated with land reclamation. I will be known for other things. Greater, different things. Le Portier is perhaps a nice idea, but it can't be a milestone for Monaco. It couldn't be bigger than Fontvielle, so it's not worth doing."

Realisation dawned on Andrea that they weren't talking about actual, objective facts and figures here but about a competition between generations. Which was an idiotic thing to consider - as if anyone cared who had won the larger area from the sea, Prince Rainier or Prince Albert, or Prince Andrea for that matter. It would give perpetually overcrowded Monaco a little more space, it would make room for new projects, new ideas. New people, too. But Albert wasn't going to acknowledge that, all he saw was that the new ground would be smaller than the one created by his father, and so it wasn't worth doing. Rather build a high-rise instead and ruin a traditional part of the city, just so it could be the tallest structure in Monaco and carry Albert's name, with no regard for its effects on the surroundings.

"Don't you think that Monaco needs more space?" he asked.

"There will be more. Vertically." Albert paused to give Andrea a scrutinising look. "You don't support the tower project."

To lie, to say the truth... "No," Andrea decided. "I don't. I think it's not what the principality needs."

"That's for me to say. I am the Prince of Monaco. These days, you seem to forget that."

Bad choice. Bad, bad choice. Albert had sounded merely patronising before, now he sounded dangerous and Andrea was reminded that he, too, was a Grimaldi and had been brought up with the same influences and the same lessons as his sisters. Andrea was used to thinking of his mother as a person capable of cold-blooded calculation and sharp decisions if necessary, but he'd forgotten that Albert had grown up under the same circumstances.

"Uncle Albert-" he tried, but was interrupted before he could attempt to back off.

"I'm not a fool, even if you and your mother seem to think so," Albert snapped. "I rule here. I'm the head of our house. I'm the one who makes decisions, about building projects and politics and everything else. I decide whether you get to be Prince of Monaco or whether there aren't more suitable options. So you'd better be careful, you and your mother. Or you'll find that the constitution can be changed quickly enough to eliminate you, and the councils won't bat an eye at it."

Andrea opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again and bit his tongue. Half the council seats belonged to people supported by Pierre and their mother, the other half was Albert's. If it ever came to an open power struggle there, it would tear the principality apart. They couldn't afford this, not at this point. The last time they had talked about it, Pierre had been cautiously optimistic that they could probably win if it came to a showdown through the councils, but there was no guarantee that it wouldn't turn into a Phyrric victory in the end.

"Do you understand?" Albert demanded.

He nodded. "I understand," he said. Only too well.

"Good. You won't bring this up again. And you'd better not talk to anyone about Le Portier anymore. There isn't going to be a Le Portier. Got that?"

Again he nodded, biting down his rising anger.

"Now don't forget that I'm the one who's got to be satisfied with you. I'm the one who gets to choose whether you'll ever sit in my place, and if you can't behave yourself and play by my rules, then that won't happen. You'll be as illusory as Le Portier. And now go, I've got work to do."

***

"He could have picked a better moment to try and prove a point," Pierre murmured that evening, wine glass in hand. They were holding yet another council of war in his kitchen, all four siblings together with their mother and with Tatiana, the entire family assembled. Only Stefano was already in bed, but Andrea didn't think their son could have contributed much yet. "How serious do you think he was?"

"About changing the succession?" Andrea considered it. "At that moment, very. But I'm not sure he'd actually go through with it once he finds out how much of an effort it would be."

"Push it through the councils, then appeal to the French government... it's not a simple process," his mother agreed. "But it can be done. We can't risk being at his mercy about that, not when he changes his mind on a whim."

"But what can we do about it? He's not about to step down, that much is obvious, and I have the feeling that if he's pushed too hard right now, there's no telling which direction he'll jump." Andrea leaned back in his chair and looked first at his mother, then at Pierre. "What if he thinks he's backed into a corner and starts acting in completely irrational ways?"

Pierre shrugged. "More irrational than now? That's hard to imagine. But one thing is plain, we can't wait forever. He's done too much damage already, if we look the other way on this one as well, it's going to be irreparable. You won't have to worry about ruling then, there won't be a country left because it will have gone bankrupt and France will be forced to annex us."

Andrea narrowed his eyes. "It's that important that we push through?"

"Politically or economically?"

"Economically, that matters more."

"You mustn't discard the political angle, though," their mother interjected. "If you ignore that for too long, you'll lose ground there. Right now we've got a majority in the councils. Shaky, but I can make it stand if I have to. So don't ignore politics."

Andrea nodded. "I know," he said, "but if we can't actually afford it, then politics won't matter. So economics comes first this time, there's no way around it. We can figure out the rest later, once we've got the numbers straight."

"Not much to get straight," Pierre grumbled. "If Albert pushes through with the tower project, we might as well up and move for distant shores, it's going to be over. I have no idea who managed to convince him that it's viable."

"It's that bad?" Tatiana asked.

Pierre turned to give her a frank look. "The best guess I've seen says that it's going to need thirty years to recoup its investments," he said. "The worst is that it will never be sustainable, that the construction costs will double and that the amount needed to actually run it on a daily basis is going to turn it into a sinkhole for money. There's a reason why I kept the family companies out of bidding for the construction contract and did it all through subsidiaries. Whoever touches that one is going to take on one hell of a risk. If it turns out really badly, the construction companies will go belly-up halfway through the project. I can afford losing one or two of the small ones, but I've had to be careful to keep them separate from our core business."

"And from the national side?" their mother asked. Does it make any sense for Monaco as a whole?"

Pierre spread his hands on the table, palm down. "It ties up far too much money for far too long. We're talking two billion here. Twenty, thirty years of governmental income. Some of it would be covered by investors, but the way Albert wants to construct the project, accountability would lie with the state. If he's implementing this with one of my competitors, I've got no choice but to pull out and cut my losses here in Monaco, there's no way there'll be any other state-directed construction for decades."

"Which would be a problem beyond just the financial implications, because if there are no investments, it can't go well." Elbows propped up on the table, Tatiana rested her chin on her folded hands. "So this mustn't happen."

"Exactly," Pierre agreed. "If I am the project partner, I'll re-route the money into Monaco, but there's no guarantee that I'll win the contract. Anyone else isn't going to do local re-investing. That whole project is far too much of a gamble."

"And Le Portier?" Charlotte wanted to know. "You and Andrea are behind that one, I know, but does it make more sense? Surely it can't be much cheaper."

Pierre sat back. "It isn't. But the difference is that it would be a matter of land reclamation only. Simply speaking, once that land is secured, you can lease it to investors who then build on it. That's a much safer revenue stream, and it generates additional income because whatever is built there will earn us money in taxes and fees. Le Portier makes sense. The Grimaldi Tower is an ego project for Albert that would cost billions."

"Quite a straightforward summary," Alexandra said after a moment. "So he has to be stopped."

"Just so," Pierre agreed.

The resigned expression on his brother's face was not very reassuring, Andrea thought. "Easier said than done, unfortunately. So what do we do?"

"We've got to stop Albert, that much is obvious," Andrea's mother said firmly. "The councils can delay for a while, that will buy us time. But I think this is the point where we need to consider making our move."

Pierre nodded. "It's getting too risky to wait, on too many fronts. If we don't remove him soon, we might as well give up now and spare ourselves the effort."

Closing his eyes for a second, Andrea sighed inwardly. He'd known this was coming, but he'd hoped it would be a few more years in the future. But he'd have to be blind not to see that this couldn't go on forever, not with Albert growing more and more irrational and impulsive about his decisions. "How soon?" he asked, exchanging a look with Tatiana. He knew they both were thinking about the same: the second peanut was due in June, and neither of them was eager to tackle a major project in addition to that.

"A year," Pierre said after a minute's consideration. "Perhaps we can push it a little longer, but don't count on it. The actual handing over of power will take some more time after that, but we need to start preparing now so that when we're ready to make our move, everything is in place. Let Albert calm down now, don't do anything controversial. He can't begin the building projects before autumn if we push for it, and he won't start in winter, that buys us time. But by this time next year, we'll have to act." His brother looked at him, far too much comprehension in his eyes. "It's the best we can give you."

With a slow nod, Andrea tried to believe in that and relax. His family would always have his back in this, but there was no way around the simple truth that this was what he'd been raised for, even when it had sometimes looked as though he might escape. "I know, and I'm grateful. Lets just hope it's enough."

***  
 _June 2018_  
***

When the National Inquirer speculated about a break-up between Wills and Carl, Andrea didn't pay it much heed. News of the World, the Mirror and the Sun followed, of course, but that was merely the law of nature in that shark tank. 

Then the Mail carried a toned-down, speculative editorial on the issue, followed by the Telegraph discussing the hypothetical case of a gay royal divorce. At that point Andrea picked up the phone and called Wills, only to end up in his voicemail with the info that his friend was on duty, rescuing lost sheep off mountains, stranded dolphins off beaches and hapless Londoners off trees, and would be back in two weeks. Not so unusual, so he tried Carl next, only to get yet another voicemail, this time conveying a similar message in Swedish.

Three days and eleven calls later, he broached the subject with Tatiana over lunch at a small brasserie in La Condamine, not quite coincidentally one which stood to be torn down if Albert went to go ahead with his plans. After all, if Tatiana happened to have a craving for the peach parfait served only by this little restaurant, then he'd be a poor husband indeed if he didn't give in to the demands of his pregnant wife. And if they happened to be seen by the locals, and had a little chat with the regulars... why, it was only good manners to speak to people rather than ignore them.

Duties performed to everyone's satisfaction, they were given peace and quiet to finish their lunch in private. Once the waitress had cooed over Stefano and departed around the corner again, he leaned forward and waited until Tatiana had savoured her first spoonful of parfait. 

"What do you think the papers are up to?" he asked when he deemed her ready to spare him some attention. By his side, Stefano was happily playing with his two miniature cars, a gift from Uncle Carl that could occupy the boy for hours on end, especially once he'd figured out how to make the indicators blink.

Tatiana tilted her head. "About Wills and Carl?" At his surprised glance, she merely chuckled. "You don't usually bring home stacks of English tabloids, it's not that hard to guess. Did you call them?"

He nodded. "I didn't get through. Wills is on duty, Carl is... I have no idea where he is, actually, but the gossip rags claim he's in Sweden again." Which was just fuel to the fire; all the work his friends had done in winter to convince the rags that their marriage was not at risk was undone by duty and circumstance. "They'll keep pushing."

"Surely you don't think there's anything to it, do you?" Tatiana asked. "You've seen them over New Year's. There's no way they're having a fight over something more serious than leaving the lube bottle uncapped."

Smiling despite his concerns, Andrea picked up his spoon to steal a bit of parfait from Tatiana's plate. "I can't imagine it, no," he agreed, pretending to ignore her glower at that liberty. "But it's the sort of harassment they don't need. You know how much Carl hates the press."

"It's not going to make him any fonder of them," Tatiana agreed. "And Wills can't do anything about it?"

Andrea shrugged and obligingly leaned back so Stefano could lead his cars in a race around his plate, all the while producing a hit-and-miss rumble that was supposed to be engine noise. "By himself? That would only spark rumours that they've got something to hide."

"Point taken." Frowning, Tatiana licked her spoon as she thought. "It's not like we can do much about it, though. If they manage to have a few appointments together, they can perhaps show the press that everything is fine. The more serious media might even believe them, and as for the yellow press..." She winked at him, a hand on her belly. "I'm still hoping they'll figure out who fathered the little peanut."

He looked at her, eyebrows waggling. "That many options?"

"I'm in high demand. Which you should know, we're having half our affairs as threesomes, in case you haven't noticed."

Stefano half scrambled into his lap to bring his car around the difficult hairpin turn around Andrea's wine glass, happily rumbling, and Andrea carefully steadied the boy to keep him from tumbling down to the floor. A quick cuddle, now that the opportunity presented itself, then Andrea let him go again. "Who with? I seem to have missed all the excitement."

Tatiana winked at him. "Surely you haven't forgotten Theodora already, we had a hot night in Davos with her, right before they thought she had an affair with that Russian hockey player."

"She can't have anything to do with the peanut, though, can she?"

"No, that was Guillaume, he and I rekindled our old romance and let you participate."

Andrea blinked. "I'm fairly certain I'd remember that one."

Laughing, Tatiana reached out to touch his hand. "I daresay you would," she agreed, then turned a little more serious again. "Have you talked to him?"

"About what, whether he wants to give a ménage à trois with us a try? I'd probably need to talk to his Habsburg first and I'm not sure I want to find out what Amedeo would have to say about that. Who knows, he might be all in favour of it, with those Imperial and Royal Highnesses you can never be sure."

"Well..." Tatiana mused, smirking when Andrea gave her a scandalised look. "I didn't mean it in that way," she said, the statement accompanied by a kick to his ankle under the table. "But it's not like he wouldn't notice that something is off with Wills and Carl."

"Amedeo would notice," Andrea amended, "and then use Guillaume's perfect respectability to have him find out more. I daresay our dear Hereditary Grand Duke could call Clarence House and simply ask, and the assistants would consider it a serious inquiry." He shook his head, a rueful smile on his face as he absently reached out to gently stroke Stefano's hair. "I don't think they know any more than we do, as long as Carl and Wills aren't reachable over the phone. But I don't like this, there are too many things that can go wrong."

The eternal problem with external pressure on high-profile relationships; when every flaw and chink in the armour was studied under the magnifying glass of the press, it devoured far too much effort to present a united front. Carl and Wills were good at it, but even for them it had to be exhausting to deal with the constant battering and the permanent suspicions, helped along by the occasional well-timed comment by the Prince of Wales, who apparently couldn't help voicing his concern and his understanding for his son and thus fan the flames. 

"You'll just have to trust them to get it sorted out," Tatiana said, smiling when Stefano wriggled his way under Andrea's arm to tuck himself tightly against his side, cars still in hand. "And be ready to help them if they need it."

***

The opportunity to help out came on the following day already, when Andrea was cornered by a group of reporters after opening an exhibition at the Oceanographic Museum. By now they knew better than to try and talk to him without asking at least a few token questions about the actual reason for his appearance first, so he got to cheerfully praise the museum staff for a few minutes before permitting the interview to be taken into other directions.

He had not, however, expected to be faced with, "What do you think of the impending British royal divorce?"

Blinking, Andrea hid behind a lazy smile for a second while he raced to figure out the best approach. "What royal divorce? I'm sure the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh have patched up that little disagreement over the flower arrangement at the Christmas church visit by now."

One of the reporters pushed forward, her lips pursed as she shoved a colleague out of the way with a less than subtle elbow check. "Prince William and Prince Carl," she said.

"Ah, William and Carl Philip," Andrea mused, putting plenty of emphasis on Carl's complete name. You had to earn the right to drop the second half, even if Carl himself didn't care most of the time. "Why, everything is fine with them, whatever would give you that idea?"

"So you don't think that their separation means their marriage is at an end?"

"Separation?" Andrea gave them his best wide-eyed look. None of his friends ever believed his pretense at innocence, but the reporters didn't know him nearly that well. "It is tragic that Carl _Philip_ has to spend so much time in Sweden these days to assist his sister and father, but I'm sure he and William do their best to make up for it. They're a very dedicated pair, don't you think?"

That this wasn't what the reporters had hoped to hear was obvious from the faint air of disappointment which took root after his answer. "What do you think about the latest news then that they've begun with the legal proceedings?"

Andrea rolled his eyes. "Who says that, the Mirror?" he wanted to know. "I cannot imagine that anything is wrong with them. Why, they've only just confirmed that they'll come for a private visit in a few weeks and I assure you that the Monegasque divorce courts aren't among the planned highlights." 

"What then?" a young man with a ridiculous hedgehog haircut demanded.

With a patient look, Andrea turned towards him. "Surely you've gone on a holiday before," he drawled. "It can't be that much of a mystery."

He wasn't the only one they got; that evening he came across a brief clip of Guillaume, waylaid by a gaggle of journalists on his way out of the Grand Ducal Palace in Luxembourg. Briefcase in hand, hair impeccable and his suit, shirt and tie looking as if they'd been freshly washed and pressed, he nonetheless managed to exude an air of complete and utter irritation when he was asked about Wills and Carl and the date of their impending divorce.

"I believe," Guillaume said, his tone coolly clipped, "that the correct answer to this question would be 'when pigs learn to fly'. And now I hope you will excuse me, I must prepare for my next duties, I have a conference on international relations to attend and I don't have time for baseless rumours."

***

Wills finally called back five days later, straight off two weeks of search and rescue duty and not all that coherent. It was testament to his dedication and his need to be useful that he still stuck with his military duties instead of looking for something more comfortable, less time-consuming and with fewer round-the-clock shifts. But that wouldn't have been like him in any way. Heir's disease, Andrea thought as he listened to his friend tiredly attempt to deal with the situation at hand.

They wrapped the call fairly soon, even though Andrea would have liked to spend more time talking to Wills. But his friend sounded exhausted and ready to fall over and catch up on sleep, so he let him go after a bit of teasing banter. 

No word from Carl yet, however, and Andrea was beginning to feel deeply uneasy about that. It simply wasn't normal for him to vanish like that for days. Wills had duty to explain his absences, but there was no reason why Carl should be unreachable for more than a few hours at a time when he was in Sweden. But he wasn't picking up his phone, and now Wills had requested for Andrea not to try and call him for the coming days.

Andrea glanced at his cell phone. If Tatiana were here, she'd put all ideas of going against that request out of his mind. But she was in Paris with Stefano, a visit to their son's grandmothers combined with a chance to catch up with some of her friends while they stayed in France for the spring. 

Still, he knew she wouldn't approve if he tried Carl once again, and that Wills probably had his reasons for asking. So he scrolled past that particular number as he wandered out onto the balcony to catch a bit of noontime sun and called Amedeo instead to see if those two had heard anything from their errant Swede.

"What _is_ it with you people today?" their pet archduke wanted to know when he finally picked up, his voice a raspy grumble. 

Andrea quirked an eyebrow. "You can always simply not take the call when you're busy with other things," he pointed out, not bothering to hide his grin. 

"And kill the mood because Guillaume's attention's going to be on whatever he might have missed? No way." Amedeo cleared his throat, murmured something incomprehensible, then returned his attention to Andrea again. "Why are you calling?"

"I just wanted to know whether you've heard anything from Carl."

A sigh, then, "Not in the past few days. I'll put you on speaker, hang on. Guillaume's here, too."

"Not exactly a surprise. Do you want me to call back later so you can bask in the afterglow?"

"No, don't worry about it, it's not like you're interrupting. I can't convince him to have a noon nap anyway."

A grumble of protest sounded in the background and turned gradually more comprehensible. "... and besides, it's a matter of time. Andrea?"

That sounded ominously irritated compared to Guillaume's recent attitude. Perhaps he should have waited before calling; then again, if they made good use of their lunch break like this, Andrea suspected calling at night wouldn't be much better. 

"At your service, as always," he drawled. "Feeling frisky today, are we?"

He heard Guillaume sigh. "What do you want?"

"If you ask like that..." he teased, then turned a little more serious. "I just had a call from Wills, but he wouldn't tell me anything about Carl. Do you know what's going on?"

"Only that Carl's still in Sweden. But a look at his official schedule could have told you that, he seems to handle at least one assignment a day right now."

Which for Carl was a considerably higher workload than what he was usually dealing with. In Sweden, someone had probably done the preparatory work for him and he wasn't expected to perform perfectly, but it couldn't be easy to adjust to. Andrea was beginning to see why his friend wasn't picking up the phone - he probably spent all off-duty time in an exhausted heap somewhere.

"So what do we do?" he wanted to know. 

"What do you mean, what do we do? William has not requested help, and I don't think Carl-"

"I don't think we should do anything too involved without their agreement," Amedeo interrupted firmly before Guillaume could voice any more objections, "but there are a few opportunities. Guillaume and I talk to the press on a daily basis, we'll drop hints that everything is well in London wherever it fits."

"Not in my speech on opening the new biochemistry institute tomorrow, it won't," Guillaume muttered.

"Consider it a challenge, love. I'll make it worth your while if you find a way to work it in. Anyway, Andrea, you could try the same approach, you're doing plenty of appearances these days. And the journalists who talk to you are more likely to deal with the gossip columns, we get more of the serious variety most of the time."

"A miracle in itself," Andrea teased. "But good idea, that should be doable until we can come up with something more elaborate."

Amedeo hummed in agreement. "Might want to wait until we can catch them and see what they need of us, though. They'll need more than some relationship praise from us to throw the hounds off the scent again. Damned British press, ours is much easier to deal with."

"Yours is aware that if they piss of Guillaume's father, they'll be reduced to writing about minor road accidents because they'll be banned from all important events," Andrea pointed out.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing. Anyway, let's do a bit of misdirecting for now and see if it helps."

***

Matters on the Monaco front quieted down over the following weeks and ran the course of a usual January, when the country always quieted down. Albert was too busy with his various vacations to pay much attention to what was going on in his principality to take note of anything Andrea got up to. It was typical for that time of the year; Monaco was a quiet place during winter when all the tourists were gone, and Albert saw no reason to be present when the fun was taking place elsewhere.

It was the first time he missed the festival of Sainte Devote, though, which marked a major change. Normally this was one date in the family calendar which nobody dared to miss, like the National Day and the Grand Prix. But this year, Albert was in Austria to watch an alpine skiing race, and his wife had stalked off to Verbier with her own group of hangers-on. The Monegasque media were careful not to make much of a fuss about it, but when Andrea took a short walk the day before the celebration, it wasn't hard to notice the shift in atmosphere. People noticed that their Prince had abandoned them, and they weren't likely to forget.

Albert's absence meant that there was no formal set-up for the ceremony that evening. The arrangements went ahead under the auguries of the archbishop, as always, but there was no cordoned-off section for the press, no separate place for the Grimaldis. As always, an old-fashioned fishing boat had been set up on a pyre in the centre of the Palace Square, symbolising Sainte Devote's funeral pyre, and the people of Monaco were gathering as soon as the sun set.

"I could be mistaken," Pierre said as he stepped outside the Palace together with Andrea, Tatiana and Stefano, "but I think there are a lot more people this year than usual."

"Perhaps they need to see that Albert really is skipping this?" Tatiana suggested. "I know I'd want to see with my own eyes that he's making such a blunder."

Adjusting his hold on Stefano, Andrea pressed a swift kiss against the top of his son's head when the little boy let himself be cuddled close for a moment before he straightened up again to look at the crowd with wide eyes. For once he wasn't making any moves to try and be set down, though, which was a good thing because Andrea wasn't about to let go of him, not when he'd just discovered hide and seek as his new favourite game. With so many people around, there was no way they'd let him walk by himself. The concern wasn't so much that something might happen to the peanut, but every year several children got lost during the ceremony and had to be taken care of by the security officers. Andrea and Tatiana agreed that they didn't particularly want Stefano to start his public career as a member of the ruling house that way. 

"Is Mama here already?" he asked when he couldn't spot her immediately. With Albert absent, they had agreed to skip the formal setup entirely and simply mingle with the crowd, which was earning them plenty of surprised looks as they slowly made their way to the centre of the square, towards the pyre.

Pierre pointed to their left. "Over there, with Alexandra and Charlotte. And Aunt Stefanie is by the statue of Il Malizia." He paused to wave, then turned back to Andrea. "How are we doing this?"

"What do you mean? The same procedure as every year. We listen to the Archbishop, then the singing, then someone sets fire to the boat, we wait until it burns down and that's it."

"Exactly," Pierre said, sounding suspiciously patient. "Who sets fire to the boat?"

Andrea paused in mid-stride. "I hadn't thought of that. Normally Albert would..."

"But he isn't here, so someone else's got to do it."

"Mama?" Andrea asked hopefully. 

Both Pierre and Tatiana gave him the sort of look that said that he was missing something obvious. 

"Me?" he hazarded a guess.

"Of course you," Tatiana said. "Otherwise we might as well give the torch to a random bystander and tell him to go have fun. The Prince lights the boat. Albert isn't here, so you're the next best thing."

Andrea protectively cuddled Stefano closer in an attempt to hide behind him. It didn't work particularly well and only resulted in a squirming toddler. "You do realise that if I go ahead with this, Albert is going to throw a tantrum?"

Tatiana shrugged. "Let him," she said matter-of-factly. "He isn't here, so what are we supposed to do? This has been a Grimaldi tradition since your great-great-grandfather, it's hardly your fault if you step in. If it sends a political signal, then so be it, he set himself up for it."

He would have liked to argue that it was not the smartest move to make, but around them people were beginning to pay attention to their whispers. "All right. But if he has me thrown into the dungeons for this, you've got to promise that you'll break me out."

"We'll stage a cunning rescue," Pierre assured him, a gleam in his eye. "Moonless night, we'll swim to shore, climb the rock and find one of the secret passages and rescue you from a tragic demise in chains so we can lead you on a daring escape. Il Malizia would have loved it."

And Pierre wouldn't mind doing it, Andrea thought. He wondered how long it would take for his brother to give this a try, prisoner to be rescued or not.

(It took two days and ended with Pierre breaking his wrist while rappelling down the sheer rock face below the fortress. He proclaimed it a grand adventure nonetheless.)

By the time darkness fell completely, the square was filled almost entirely; far more people than had been there for the past years, and they kept on coming until Andrea wondered whether there were all that many more native Monegasques staying at their homes tonight. It was an oddly charged atmosphere, tense and expectant at the same time, like the people knew something was up and didn't dare to stay away. He had no trouble imagining some of his ancestors making use of such a situation in the past to put themselves at the head of such a crowd. For a moment he tried to imagine what it would be like to make a move now, but this was the age of laws and constitutions, and no rulers were replaced by the whim of the mob anymore, never mind that plenty of them had brought torches for today.

When the Archbishop of Monaco arrived to handle his part of the ceremony, an almost eerie quiet fell as thousands of people turned silent. There was no equipment in place to broadcast his speech, so only the first rows could hear him talk of Sainte Devote and then bless the boat, the assembled people and finally the Palace and the reigning family. A minute of prayer, then one of the accompanying priests brought forward a fresh torch while another raised a little lantern lit from the eternal flame in the cathedral.

"You stay with Uncle Pierre and Mama for now," Andrea quietly told Stefano. "Make sure Uncle Pierre doesn't get into trouble, will you?"

He got an enthusiastic nod in response and handed Stefano over to Pierre, who was doing his best not to laugh. A quick glance at Tatiana to catch her encouraging smile, then he stepped forward and slowly walked over to the Archbishop, all eyes on him. 

This was different from his usual assignments and appearances, not just because of the size of the crowd but because of what he was doing. National Day came close, but it was always Albert who took centre stage there, with everyone else in the second row. Tonight, Andrea didn't think his uncle was on many people's mind.

He waited for the priests to light the torch and for the Archbishop to bless it, his eyes firmly on the flame. This was important, he knew, for show and for substance, and when he held the torch in his hands, he paused for a moment to let the people get a good look at him. Then he he stepped up to the small wooden boat on its pyre, crossed himself and set it afire under the watchful eyes of the people of Monaco.

This was about making a point. And perhaps about a bit of support from Sainte Devote; right now Andrea would take all the help he could get.

***

"That was well done yesterday," his mother told him the following day when she came by in what was officially a visit to talk strategy with Andrea and Tatiana, and really a chance to see her grandson and spoil him rotten for a few hours. She'd been much stricter with her own children, but when Andrea had pointed that out to her, all she'd said - after a bout of laughter - had been that grandparents followed different rules. Given that he remembered plenty of times when his own grandfather had countermanded maternal orders, he suspected he wasn't in a position to argue.

"I'm still waiting for Albert's reaction," Andrea said, toying with the fork in his hand. They'd all settled around the kitchen table for this talk, for the old Grimaldi combination of pasta and politics. "It's been in the papers this morning, even if the flunkies didn't report to him last night."

His mother looked thoughtful. "He knows for sure. But I don't think they'll be quick to figure out what to do about it. They can't claim that you put yourself forward when there wasn't even an opportunity for you to make a speech, like Albert always does. And he was abroad, so he can't say that you pushed him aside either. There's no room for criticism in there that doesn't make him look entirely foolish."

"Which won't necessarily stop him," Tatiana added. 

She had a point there; Albert was growing more and more volatile these days where his decisions were concerned. Meetings and appointments had to be cancelled or rescheduled, his statements frequently contradicted each other on all sorts of topics from new road names to councillor appointments, and even the flunkies were no longer safe. Clear symptoms that he no longer even pretended to care about keeping Monaco functional, and Andrea wished he'd finally figure out that the easiest way for all of them lay in abdication. But so far, his Uncle was still too enamoured with his role as Prince of Monaco to choose that route, even if he hadn't actually performed any duties for weeks now. What could be delegated, was delegated, and the rest simply fell by the wayside.

"It can't continue for much longer," Andrea's mother said, nodding in thanks when he refilled her water glass from the pitcher. "The people aren't stupid, they can see what's going on. For now they're playing along, but a few more blunders like yesterday and they'll decide that they'd better look for another Prince."

Andrea paused, a forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth. "There won't be a coup, right?" he asked, setting the fork down. "A mob with torches and pitchforks really doesn't sound like a good idea."

"Nothing like that," his mother waved off, much to his relief. "But they'll turn less deferential. Less enthusiastic about him. Albert needs the praise and adoration around him, if he doesn't get that in Monaco anymore, he'll look elsewhere."

"And hopefully realise that ruling Monaco is an unnecessary burden if the people don't appreciate his brilliant leadership for what it is." Leaning back in her chair, Tatiana kept an eye on Stefano, who was making a cheerful mess in his efforts to handle spaghetti . "As long as he doesn't have that epiphany in the coming months, I'm all for it."

A glance to her growing belly, Andrea's mother gave her a reassuring smile. "We'll keep him in line for now. Even if he decides to do the hand-over sooner rather than later, we can push it back until you two can handle it."

"Twenty years, then, until both peanuts are able to fend for themselves?" Andrea half-joked. He had no illusions that this would get easier once their second child was born; they weren't so foolish to eschew the help of nannies, but hired help only went so far if they still wanted to raise the children themselves.

His mother's smile was almost wistful. "I wish that were a possibility," she said, and he knew they both were thinking of the years in Saint Remy she had given him and his siblings for their childhood, away from Monaco's insanity and the pressure. They'd grown up to be better people thanks to that. "A year. We'll do our best for that."

He sighed quietly and glanced at Stefano, covered in spatters of tomato sauce as he worked on his lunch, the most important little person in Andrea's world right now. "I know, and I'm grateful. There's no good time for this, is there?"

His mother shook her head. "Never. Too soon, too late, there's never the right moment. So don't bother to wait for it."

***  
 _March 2020_  
***

Albert didn't say anything when he finally returned to Monaco two weeks later. He simply summoned Andrea to his office, handed him a list of appointments to deal with and waved him out again. The entire meeting took five minutes; Andrea found out why when he had a chance to look at the list ten minutes later and had to check to see whether there actually was a free afternoon somewhere in there, let alone a full day.

So much for Albert's promise that Andrea would be able to balance his duties and his private life. But since a man as busy as the Prince of Monaco could not be bothered to supervise his nephew all the time, Andrea eliminated all the tasks clearly done as a favour to avuncular flunkies, cut out the ones where he'd be an ignored celebrity among many with nothing useful to do, and ended up with an almost manageable list. Progress, he felt. 

An appointment not on Albert's list was the Rose Ball - since his uncle wasn't going to attend this year either, it clearly didn't warrant a mention or even a princely thought. Too much of a Casiraghi-dominated event already for Albert's taste, it seemed; Andrea's mother had openly speculated that he'd attempt to cancel it, and was downright disappointed to be denied the showdown which would inevitably have resulted.

During the week before the ball, the guests trickled into the principality, the usual blend of celebrities, athletes and a decent amount of royalty. Theodora brought the boy toy, who in turn brought what seemed like half his ice hockey mates along.

"You told them they're not allowed to eat anyone, right?" Andrea asked when he met her for lunch at the Casino a few days before the ball.

She rolled her eyes. "They're perfectly nice."

"I'm sure of that, but they're..." He gestured vaguely. "Huge, with those shoulders and that menacing air about them."

"Don't tell me you're afraid of Jarret." Theodora stole his wine glass, then pulled a face at his choice of Barolo. "He's adorable."

"He could beat someone over the head with that hockey stick of his and then use that same stick as a spit to roast them over an open fire," Andrea pointed out and evacuated his wine to a safer spot outside her reach. "I'm holding you responsible if I find any of my guests have been nibbled on. Without asking for it, that is."

"I'll get them muzzles, how about that?" Theodora suggested.

"Perfect, my dear. If you'll put them on a leash on top of that..."

She laughed. "Keep on dreaming. They'll be nice, don't worry. They're all a bit worried about those real princes and princesses around. A few of them are Canadians, they're in awe that Wills is going to be there."

"You mean they aren't used to you yet?"

"Ah, but I don't qualify, I'm just a girlfriend and Papa's monarchy is deposed, so it doesn't count. Who's coming, anyway?"

"The usual crowd. Wills and Carl, Guillaume and Amedeo, Vicky isn't entirely sure yet if she can make it but she'll try. A few younger Belgians and Luxembourgians, probably Harry and Alex... you'll have plenty of opportunity for some fun."

She nodded slowly, eyes narrowed. "Are you sure about Guillaume? I saw him for dinner two weeks ago when he had a trade conference in LA, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to fit it into his schedule."

Andrea suppressed a sigh. "Amedeo said they'll both be here."

"And what our archduke wants, he gets," Theodora said. "Is Madeleine coming?"

"No, she's playing regent, she'll be the only royal in the country so she can't leave. Random Danes might annex it." It was a good thing Monaco didn't have such provisions in its constitutions anymore; being unable to leave a country like Sweden was one thing, but if you had to stay within the borders of a country that didn't even have space for a proper supermarket, it got difficult. 

"A pity, two of Jarret's friends are Swedes, they were looking forward to meeting her. Well, we'll just have to find ways to amuse ourselves without her and make do with Carl and Vicky."

Andrea gave her a stern look. "No nibbling on my guests," he reminded her.

Theodora blew him a kiss. "Of course not. As though anyone would dare. They're all sad they didn't make it to the play-offs this year, they'll be on their best behaviour when they feel like kicked puppies already."

By that evening, Andrea discovered that Theodora had been right about Guillaume when Amedeo arrived sans Hereditary Grand Duke, his expression stormy. Andrea couldn't really get anything useful out of him, only a brisk assurance that Guillaume had promised to show up, but that he'd be delayed. 

It was a good thing that Wills would be here as well, since it looked as though a talking-to was in order once again. Why Guillaume couldn't just remember and accept it once and for all that this couldn't go on forever was a mystery Andrea felt he'd never solve; the way it looked, the King of England would have to regularly bark at the Grand Duke of Luxembourg to take it easy until they both were grey with age. 

For that to happen, they'd need him to be somewhere within reach, however, and not even Amedeo knew for sure where he was. 

"I left him behind in Moscow yesterday morning after we visited the embassy," he explained when Andrea attempted a tactful inquiry. "He was supposed to take the evening flight, but he missed that one, something to do with the tsesarevich." 

Andrea quirked an eyebrow at that. "And you just abandoned him to that fate?"

Amedeo snorted. "Guillaume can fend for himself," he said. "As if that little weasel had any chance."

Belatedly, Andrea remembered that this was difficult dynastic terrain. Amedeo might not be plotting a war against that particular Hohenzollern scion, but that might be due more to the lack of an actual army to command than a lack of willpower. There probably was a need for retaliation for some centuries-old feuds bred into that Habsburg mind. 

"So where is he now?" he asked instead, trying to get the attention back to Guillaume. "Siberia?"

"He'd better not be," Amedeo muttered. "Last time he checked in with me, he was in Riga. Don't ask me what he does there, it's not in his to-do list."

To Andrea's eyes, Amedeo sounded remarkably unconcerned about temptation by tsesarevichs and his husband being lost somewhere along the European air routes. Then again, it was not the first time Guillaume had managed to reroute himself, and as for potential overtures from Hohenzollerns, there was no way their Hereditary Grand Duke could possibly fit that into his tightly packed schedule.

"And... he'll turn up?"

"He'd better," Amedeo practically growled. "Or I'm going to follow up to my threats and really handcuff him to me."

Andrea waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Could be hard to explain at the airport."

Amedeo shrugged. "Diplomatic passports give you all sorts of excuses."

They managed to keep their pet archduke reasonably distracted over the course of the day by the simple measure of handing him over to Stefano, who crowed in delight at having one of his uncles visit. Amedeo spent the day showing magic tricks to the peanut, but by the time Stefano had to go to bed, the irritation of the afternoon had given way to concern when Guillaume wasn't answering his phone. A few calls finally located him in Stockholm of all places, caught in a plane delay that had Amedeo mutter something incomprehensible about witches and exorcisms, though he perked up once he got to speak to his husband for a few minutes.

The good mood lasted for exactly as long as it took Guillaume to mention that he was making use of the unexpected Scandinavian stopover to meet up with a few members of the Swedish chamber of commerce. At least he promised to arrive in Monaco before noon the following day, or Andrea suspected they'd have had a hard time keeping Amedeo from being imperially and royally pissed off.

"If they don't work this out before Guillaume becomes Grand Duke, it's going to be impossible," Tatiana mused that night as she sat on the corner of the bed and brushed her hair. "He'll be even more overworked then, it's now or never if he's going to learn how to handle it without running himself into the ground."

Nodding in agreement, Andrea leaned down to kiss her cheek and take the brush from her. "He's still under the weather from that flu in December, did you notice? Or maybe it's a new one, I have no idea."

Tatiana leaned into the first few brush strokes before holding still. "Small wonder. As though he'll ever take the time to wait until he's healthy if he isn't forced. But I thought Amedeo would be more determined to make him slow down if necessary."

Andrea hummed in agreement. "I think he's running out of steam. He seemed almost resigned about that rerouting and the additional meetings in Sweden. A year or two ago, he wouldn't have accepted it like that." He paused to carefully undo a tangle. "Think we should make more definite plans about kidnapping Guillaume? If we do it during the Rose Ball, he won't be missed for at least two days. We could have him halfway around the globe before someone notices."

"Perhaps we should see first how he behaves tomorrow," Tatiana suggested. "But if he's not done being stupid, I say we go along with the plan."

The next morning, their Hereditary Grand Duke was duly delivered by a cheerful-looking Carl, who'd flown in from Stockholm as well. Mostly that good mood was due to the fact that he and Wills were going to spend the week in Monaco, away from the British press and all those searching looks whenever they showed up in public somewhere. A week's respite from the pressure, which Andrea was happy to offer them. 

He'd also have gladly extended that option to Guillaume, who looked far too exhausted for comfort. Even Amedeo only took one hard look at his husband when Guillaume and Carl arrived at the palace, frowned, said something sharp in Lëtzebuergesch that was countered tiredly, and proceeded to drag him off to their room without much further ado, muttering about afternoon naps and stubborn idiots.

"He actually fell asleep on the plane," Carl said once the two were gone. "And that after all his complaints that it's impossible. Five minutes into the flight, he was out like a light."

"Must have been boring for you," Andrea drawled. "You should have used the opportunity. Shaved off his beard, dyed his hair green... the possibilities would have been endless."

Carl cast him an amused look. "Remind me not to fall asleep next to you," he said. "Is anyone picking up Wills? He should arrive in an hour or so."

"I can't, I need to go earn my keep and cut a few ribbons this afternoon," Andrea said regretfully. He'd tried to get out of those engagements, but it hadn't seemed wise to be too insistent about it. "I can lend you a car and driver if you want to go."

Grinning, Carl patted his shoulder. "Just make it a car, I'll drive myself. What are they making you use these days?"

Andrea sighed. "A Pagani. I'll never get the idea behind those supercars, why can't they just give me something drivable and reasonable?"

Carl laughed. "Because you're supposed to be glamorous, fashionable and daring. Can you lend it to me? It might even have enough room for a bag somewhere, Wills said he packed light."

Without hesitation, Andrea went to the small table by the door to fetch the keys. "Have fun," he said. "Don't get lost on the way. Don't go on any detours to Spain."

Accepting the keys, Carl looked far too gleeful at the mere idea. "It's got a top speed of over 300 kilometres an hour, we'd be back before you notice. But don't worry, I'll just hop over to Nice and get Wills."

It didn't work out quite like that. Half an hour after Carl had left, Andrea was on his way to the police station in Beaulieu to confirm that yes, this really was His Royal Highness Prince Carl Philip. No, the car hadn't been stolen. Yes, Andrea knew about reminding people to bring their driving license. Yes, he'd be more diligent about that in the future. No, he had no idea what Pierre was up to this time and why he'd been spotted walking along the beach road with two camels.

By the time they were done, Wills had called from the airport, a little confused when the promised reception committee had turned out to be missing, and had made his own way to Monaco by taxi. 

"I hope you realise that the press is going to have a field day with this," he said after a hug and thorough kiss for Carl, and a slightly more restrained greeting for Andrea. "The future Prince Consort of England arrested by the French police, and has to be bailed out by the next Prince of Monaco..."

"Perhaps it's going to distract them," Carl murmured, though he didn't sound all that repentant. "Who cares. You missed an awesome car, that's much worse. Andrea, mind if we borrow it again tomorrow?"

Andrea glanced from a hopeful-looking Carl to an indulgent Wills. "Sure," he drawled. "Keep the keys for as long as you're here, I'll be glad if I don't have to bother with it."

"Whatever am I going to do with you," Carl murmured.

Andrea winked at him. "I have a list."

Wills rolled his eyes. "I bet you do. Keep dreaming, Andrea." 

"Oh, I will. One day you both will be unable to resist me." The flirting was an integral part of their banter by now, and Andrea didn't think any of them would ever take it completely seriously. But there was just the slightest edge in there, the half-subconscious suspicion that the platonic nature of their relationship was due more to circumstances and less to a lack of attraction. In another universe... Still, right now Andrea was simply happy to have their friendship and their company, and whatever temptation there might be paled compared to the importance of Tatiana and their little family.

After lunch, he left Wills and Carl to unpack and went to check on his Luxembourgian guests. The door to their room wasn't shut but had been left slightly ajar, so he quietly rapped his hand against it before peering inside. 

He spotted Amedeo in one corner of the sofa, slowly petting Guillaume's head in his lap. Apparently the nap negotiations had ended with a fully-clothed break on the sofa. Better than nothing, but barely ideal. Neither of the two looked up when he pushed the door open a bit further, so Andrea cleared his throat to try and draw some attention.

Amedeo eventually cast him a tired glance. "Do you need us?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Guillaume didn't twitch a muscle in that almost boneless sprawl he'd managed, though. 

Andrea quickly shook his head. "Just stopping by to see if there's anything I can do for you two."

"No, thank you... oh, actually there is, get me a glass of water please? Looks like I'll be stuck here for a while."

Dutifully tiptoeing into the bathroom, Andrea fetched him a glass. "Everything all right?"

Amedeo sighed, his eyes weary. "Going to be, I hope," he murmured, his hand stilling at the nape of Guillaume's neck for a moment before he resumed his petting. "He refused to sleep in bed because it's just a nap and he can't possibly do more than take his shoes off in the afternoon. Stubborn bastard."

"I think he's able to prove his legitimacy," Andrea whispered with a quick smile. "You'll tell me if you need anything?"

"A husband with the faintest instinct of self-preservation?" Amedeo closed his eyes for a second. "Thank you. It helps to know I've got backup in this, it really does."

It didn't come as too much of a surprise that the Luxembourgian third of their little group missed dinner, though it was making Wills noticeably twitchy, like a sheepdog with an unruly flock. Andrea half expected him to get up from the table and go to force some food on Guillaume; it probably was only Carl's stellar efforts at keeping his husband occupied that prevented a potential international incident. 

They managed to keep Wills distracted for the rest of the evening by handing him the task of putting Stefano to bed. Reading a story took the better part of an hour and was interrupted several times for drinks for thirsty peanuts, the resulting bathroom breaks, and once for fetching the toy car from Carl. Given that Wills was supposedly reading Rapunzel to Stefano, Andrea couldn't wait to find out how that one worked.

"So what am I going to get, a goddaughter or a godson?" Carl asked while they waited for Wills to show up again. 

Tatiana snorted. "After Stefano, you're still asking? The second peanut knows the same trick about hiding from ultrasound imaging."

"As if I believed that," Carl waved off, the gesture enhanced by the half-eaten bread stick in his hand. "You just don't want to tell."

"I don't know. There's a reason why why the nursery is painted yellow, we honestly haven't found out yet." 

Andrea nodded in agreement. "We've given up on asking," he said. "You'll just have to wait and see."

Carl gave them a pleading puppy look. 

"There's nothing to tell," Tatiana said sternly. "And perhaps you can go and convince the rest of the godparental ménage à trois of that."

Carl blinked. "I'm sharing the little peanut?"

"With Guillaume and Theodora right now, we haven't picked the fourth yet," Tatiana said, lazily rolling her shoulders. She was more comfortable with this pregnancy than she'd been with Stefano, and Andrea too was managing to be a little more relaxed about it all. He still got up to spend a minute rubbing Tatiana's shoulders, and it was a clear indication of the improved balance they'd struck when he was permitted to do so with only the minimum of grumbling from her. 

"That's not the worst mix you could have come up with," Carl mused. "I can teach him or her to race cars, Theodora can give lessons on how to be a Hollywood star, and Guillaume can try his best to impart some propriety."

"God knows the kid isn't going to get that from us," Tatiana muttered when Andrea bent down to nuzzle her neck, and yelped a little when he nipped her pulse point.

"Propriety," Andrea told her airily, "is overrated."

***

The last person Andrea expected when he sneaked into the kitchen at five in the morning for a quick cup of espresso before he had to be off for a cloak-and-dagger early meeting with a handful of council members was their Hereditary Grand Duke. But there he was, looking like death warmed over as he patiently waited for the espresso machine to finish its hissing and gurgling.

"What," Andrea asked after a moment of staring, "are you doing here? Why are you awake?"

Guillaume turned around, his face pale and his eyes shadowed. "A good morning to you too," he said coolly. 

"Yes, yes," Andrea waved off. "You're on holiday, you're supposed to sleep in. Why aren't you doing that?"

Within a second, Guillaume's whole posture became stand-offish, all tense and straight and proper. "I don't think that's any of your business."

Normally, Andrea would have taken that as an invitation for a bit of verbal sparring, but when he saw Guillaume's genuinely tired expression and that at such an insane time of the day, something snapped in him. 

"You're making it my business," he said sharply. "Because if you are going to be all idiotic while you're here, I can't not notice. So why are you up already? Don't tell me you were stupid enough to schedule some bloody work again."

Retreating to the safety behind the kitchen table, Guillaume glowered at him. "My work ethics are not-"

"Not my business, yes, yes. You know what? You're wrong about that one." Moving forward a few steps, Andrea did his best to straighten up and make use of something as simple as the height advantage he held over Guillaume, even though their Hereditary Grand Duke was probably used to that from Amedeo and at least partially immune. "You're my friend, believe it or not, and right now you're being downright stupid. Someone's got to tell you that, and if you won't listen to Wills anymore then I guess it's my turn, you're obviously not paying any attention to your husband, never mind that he's half sick with worry about you by now."

Guillaume faced him, arms tightly crossed over his chest. "I'd thank you to stay out of my private life."

"What private life?" Andrea demanded to know. "The five minutes before you collapse into bed at night? That's not a private life, that's pathetic and you know it. Are you _planning_ to have your first heart attack at forty? Oh, but I forget, you've probably got that neatly pencilled into your schedule already. For fuck's sake, Guillaume, what on Earth are you trying to prove?"

"I do not have to listen to this," Guillaume muttered, but didn't make any move to leave, the need for caffeine apparently greater than his indignation at being barked at.

"Oh, yes, you do. You're going to listen to this, because someone needs to say this to you without sugarcoating it anymore. You're headed for burn-out, everybody around you can see that even if you're too blind to notice. And you know what? We'd really prefer it if you didn't go crash and burn. But unless you finally get it into your thick head that you're running yourself into the ground, I don't think we're going to get that wish. And you'll drag Amedeo down with you because he sure as hell won't be able to deal with the stress and pressure of working royalty when he's got to balance you out as well."

Guillaume treated him to a thunderous frown. "That's an absolute exaggeration."

Andrea rolled his eyes. Heir's disease. "Why, because he's never said anything about that? Newsflash, Guillaume, he won't tell you about it because in that idiotic education all you proper royals get from toddler age onwards, there's no room for being selfish and making demands for your own sake. But just go on like that, you'll have the opportunity to see it happen. All that's keeping him from fraying at the edges now is that crazy Habsburg conditioning, he probably thinks it's normal to handle this much crap. But he must be growing tired of it and you know what? I'm growing tired of it, too."

"By all means," Guillaume said icily, and Andrea could have strangled him for the lack of reaction. Shut down and turn formal: Guillaume's way of dealing with inconvenient matters of any kind."Do not concern yourself with it any further in that case."

"You don't get to brush me off that easily," Andrea shot back. "Or any of us, for that matter, if you haven't figured out yet that we're all worried. Damn it, Guillaume, you're our friend but I really have other problems right now than to keep you from running yourself into the ground, so can't you bloody well take care of yourself? I've got no idea what it's going to take and I'm not eager to find out, but I will, trust me on that."

One last longing look at the espresso machine, then Guillaume gave a minute shrug, drew himself up to his not all that impressive height and stalked towards the door without another word. 

"What, you're going to run off now?" Andrea shouted and, when that had no effect whatsoever, went after him in a few quick steps, grabbed his shoulder, spun him around and towards the wall. 

The furious look in Guillaume's eyes at being made him pause for just a second, dragging up uncomfortable memories of past encounters, but he pushed those back down in favour of a snarl that had Guillaume blink in surprise until he regained his composure. 

"You do not get to continue being an idiot," he growled. "Keep on pushing like this and you'll drop dead at forty, you know that as well as we all do. And then what?" Guillaume attempted to escape, but Andrea swiftly blocked him, crowding him against the wall, hands firmly on the other man's shoulders to keep him in place. "Oh no, you're staying here. Then what?"

"This is none-"

"None of my business. Can't you think of anything else to say? I'm making this my business. Deal with it."

Guillaume stubbornly fell silent.

"Just how do you imagine this will play out if you manage to harm yourself permanently? Do you think your father's interested at all in ruling into his old age? He deserves to be able to hand over the reigns to you, I'd say, but if you go on like that it's going to be impossible. If he sees you unable to balance life as an heir, how is he going to be able to trust you to do it as Grand Duke? And what about your brother? Did you ever consider that if you work yourself into an early grave, Felix is going to end up on the throne? Without any preparation? He's doing you enough of a favour that he's handing over his kids to be your heirs, do you want to force him to do your duties as well because you can't accept your own limits?"

"I don't-"

"And I'm not even going to start on Amedeo. Perhaps you're too blind to see it, but he's not coping anymore. Or do you think he stopped arguing because you've convinced him it's all right to shovel your own grave with your damned work ethics serving as the spade?"

Another escape attempt, almost half-hearted this time, and Andrea tightened his hold on Guillaume. He also suppressed the spark of reason that told him he was insane for trying a show-down with someone who'd managed to shoot him down with only a few well-chosen words in the past.

Best not let him get a word in edgewise, he decided almost hysterically when Guillaume opened his mouth to say something.

"Andrea, this-"

"You stay quiet, I'm not done. If you want to go on being a moron who doesn't care one whit about his own health, then fine, do it. But you'd better be prepared for us to fight you every step, because we'll be damned if we let you ruin yourself like that. We're your friends, like it or not, and you're not getting away."

"I'm not asking any of you to interfere, you know-"

"Damn it, Guillaume, shut up. And finally figure out that you're wrong about this! Do you think I'm enjoying this? Do you? I've got so much shit to deal with right now, I really don't need to worry about a friend being such an idiot, so will you finally do me a favour and get it into your head that you're not just harming yourself but everyone around you as well?"

For a moment their eyes met, and after a second, Guillaume was the first to look away. Andrea chalked it up as a first step towards victory, but wasn't about to relax his guard in any way. Those Royal Highnesses could be damned sneaky when they put their mind to it.

"I've got my duties, I can't step away from those," Guillaume said eventually, voice devoid of all emotion. "You can't deny that."

Andrea rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to. Bloody hell, Guillaume, I probably know better than anyone else right now what it's like to be on the brink of taking over a country. But I'm not neglecting my friends and family over that because that would kill my private life, and I really don't think I'm of use to anyone if I'm a burnt-out shell who's going through the motions. And you're getting there. Why do you think we all keep telling you to slow down?"

"I can handle it," Guillaume insisted.

"Heir's disease," Andrea muttered. "Did it ever occur to you that we're not harping on about it for just your sake?"

Guillaume's eyes narrowed in a frown.

"All right, I'll spell it out for you. If you go on like this, you'll drag a few people into positions they really don't want to be in. Your father wants to retire, Felix definitely doesn't want to rule after you drop dead from exhaustion, your husband wants to be able to relax on occasion without fighting you every step of the way, and the rest of us really wants to keep you around because, believe it or not, we're actually quite fond of you when you're not being stupid as hell." Cocking his head, he held Guillaume's angry stare and gave him a small shake for good measure. "Get the idea?"

They spent a minute in tense silence, Andrea still pinning Guillaume in place, and he was starting to wonder how long it would take for any of the others to come down and rescue him. Letting go didn't appear entirely safe right now. 

Then Guillaume took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and dropped his gaze. 

Andrea inwardly sighed with relief. 

"I won't do anything less than my best," Guillaume said.

It seemed like the smartest thing to do to nod, so Andrea went with that. "As if you could ever give a crap performance," he agreed. "But that's really not the point. Keep doing your best, just do less of it if you want to make it beyond forty."

Guillaume shot him a somewhat skewed look. "That's just two more years."

Andrea shrugged. "Doesn't mean you should take it for granted, the way you've been going lately," he said and very carefully let his hands drop off Guillaume's shoulders before he took a step backward, then another until he'd put what felt like an appropriate amount of distance between them again. "Are you going to think about what I said?"

The question earned him an unreadable look, followed by a minute nod of acknowledgment.

This time, Andrea didn't bother to keep his sigh of relief inaudible. "Good," he said, crossing over to the espresso machine, and he just knew Guillaume was watching his every move. Not that he could blame him; if their roles had been reversed just now, Andrea would be treating him as a potential source of danger as well. Perhaps it was time for a peace offering, or a reconciliatory effort at the very least. "Want an espresso? I've got to be at a council meeting in a few minutes, but I've got time for that."

Guillaume studied him for an instant that seemed to drag on forever before he nodded again in agreement. The silence, however, was a little unnerving. If this was how Wills felt every time he tried to beat some sense into that stubborn head, it was a miracle he bothered to do so on a regular basis. Trying to make Guillaume see reason... Andrea had attempted to do so a long time ago, with only the best intentions in mind, and it had backfired so very spectacularly. And now he'd done it again, but this time at least he didn't seem about to be ridiculed and disregarded for his lack of insight, importance or earnestness. 

Progress, perhaps. 

He busied himself with the espresso machine and did his best not to pay much attention to Guillaume. It felt better that way until they'd both figured out whether this little confrontation changed anything between them. If this was going to put a strain on their friendship... well. Maybe it would even be worth it if Guillaume finally saw sense.

"Milk or sugar?" he asked a minute later, pushing a cup of espresso across the counter towards Guillaume, who gave him a truly scandalised look at the suggestion of tampering with wonderfully pure caffeine. "Forget I asked."

Guillaume murmured in acknowledgment and sipped, eyes closed to savour the moment. Then he blinked and focused on Andrea with that unnerving intensity and seriousness he could manage. "Did you mean it?"

Andrea did his best not to back away and met his eyes straight on. "Every word."

***


	4. Chapter 4

Two days later, Amedeo still shot Andrea awestruck looks from time to time.

"He's cancelled scheduled engagements," he murmured when Andrea and Tatiana officially welcomed him and Guillaume at the Palais Princier for the Rose Ball. "Without prompting from me. Whatever you're blackmailing him with, it works."

Andrea winked at him. "It's the Grimaldi approach," he whispered back while doing his best to look properly formal and dignified, a difficult enough task when performing it in a black velvet coat with elaborate embroidering, burgundy waistcoat, snugly-fitting breeches, white silk stockings and buckle shoes. The idea of having a baroque theme for this year's ball had seemed perfect until he'd realised that it meant he'd need an even more complicated formal getup than his usual suit and tie, with which he at least felt reasonably comfortable by now.

"If this sort of mood continues, I'm putting you up for sainthood," Amedeo said. "It's enough of a miracle that even the Vatican can't possibly protest." 

To his side, Guillaume was busy greeting Tatiana and pretended not to hear their conversation. It was amazing how he could look all proper and dignified in an outfit that matched Andrea's for sheer complicatedness. Then again, Guillaume managed to look proper and dignified in swimming trunks, so it probably wasn't much of a surprise. Amedeo, too, had followed the suggestions on the invitation to the letter, only he hadn't stopped at understated dark colours like his husband and Andrea, but gone for red and white with plenty of gold trim, and had topped it off with a wig that could have come straight from one of his ancestors. It might even have done so, given the tendencies of royal houses to keep chests full of ancient clothing in their attics. At least they weren't likely to lose him in the crowd. 

"You can declare me a saint later if you absolutely need to," Andrea told him. "But I don't really know what I'd do with a halo."

"Get it tarnished really, really quickly," Guillaume murmured when he changed places with Amedeo to shake Andrea's hand, too quiet for anyone but the four of them to catch. Another second or two, Tatiana whispering something in Amedeo's ear, then their friends moved off to make room for the next pair of guests before Andrea could protest.

He still wasn't quite sure what it was he'd said to Guillaume that had given their Hereditary Grand Duke pause for thought, but so far it seemed even more effective than the growling Wills had treated him to. Perhaps it might even be enough to at least have him stop and think for a moment, though Andrea barely dared to hope. 

For the formal dinner he ended up with Wills as his companion when Mette-Marit and Guillaume had once more proved inseparable, Tatiana had snatched up Carl, an enterprising glint in her eye, and Amedeo had staked a claim on Haakon this time, who looked resigned at the display of Habsburg imperialism. Fortunately for all of them, the Norwegian crown princely couple was usually willing to play along and help with matching the gay royal subset with dinner companions when Carl's sisters weren't available. They were a much better option than most of the others, who either had never worked out how to be escorted by a person of the same gender, or who weren't particularly eager to make an effort. Ten years after Wills and Carl had become a matter of fact, the latter group was fading away, but there still were a few around who proved irritatingly narrow-minded. None of those were likely to attend an event in Monaco, however - if Wills, Guillaume and their husbands were questionable for being gay, then the Grimaldis were dubious as a whole. 

"Have you worked out a solution for your press problem yet?" Andrea asked when he dutifully escorted Wills up the spiral staircase to the state reception rooms which would be used for the banquet. They'd moved the ball to the Palais Princier this year to match the overall theme, and so far Andrea felt it had been a good decision. They certainly had more room this way, and it gave the ball a more official feeling. 

Wills sighed. "We're thinking about it," he said. "Sitting it out no longer looks like an option."

Andrea hummed in commiseration. "I could have told you that weeks ago. Are you going to give a statement? You really need to clear this up, it can't possibly end well if you don't do anything."

"We're doing as many public appearances together as we can," Wills told him as they paused halfway up the steps for a moment, waiting for Pierre and Alexandra ahead of them to clear the way. "Perhaps that will give the vultures the right idea."

Optimistic, but Andrea figured there was no point in bursting his friend's bubble just yet. "I can't imagine Carl is too happy about that."

"Doing appointments with me?" Wills asked, a wry smile on his face for a moment before he turned serious again. "The attention is getting to him, you know how he is. But this is our best shot right now if we don't want to start staging more elaborate ruses."

"Perhaps you can find a way to have him in the role of the damsel in distress and you can be his knight in shining armour on the white horse? Or in the Search and Rescue helicopter? I'm sure the reporters would love that sort of scenario." Pierre and Alexandra had finally moved, so Andrea and Wills could continue their way as well. "Can't you talk him into getting lost somewhere in the Welsh mountains?"

Wills treated him to an amused look. "As though they'd believe that for a moment."

"Maybe the idea needs some work," Andrea allowed. "But you'll come up with something."

"We're going to have to. For now my father's holding still, but if he gets it into his head again to drop those comments about how he's so concerned about me and how he'll support any decision I'll make, then I don't know how this is going to turn out." 

"I assume talking to him isn't an option?"

"That's about as likely to be successful as you talking sense into your uncle." Wills shook his head. "We really need to figure this out."

They paused at the top of the stairs to let the press have their photographs, then moved inside to make room for Carl and Tatiana, who were coming up behind them. "If there's anything we can do to help, you'll tell us, won't you?"

Wills glanced at him and nodded. "We will. And we've been thinking about talking this through with you and Tatiana, and perhaps Guillaume and Amedeo, too, they've got plenty of hands-on experience with media management by now."

"Anytime you want. I don't think there's much of a chance to do that while you're here in Monaco, though, they're leaving tomorrow afternoon already."

Wills gave a displeased grumble at that. "I thought you talked to him?"

Andrea grinned. "I did. It's Amedeo, apparently he's got an engagement with the Grand Duchess he doesn't dare to miss. Can't blame him for that, if she were my mother-in-law I'd be on my best behaviour around her as well." 

"A phone conference in that case?"

"You got it. We'll work out a time, that shouldn't be so hard."

The formal part of the evening went over without a hitch, somewhat to Andrea's surprise. He was used to unexpected turns of events in Monaco by now, and it was almost disappointing when there was no need to improvise somewhere along the line. Almost, because while he held some morbid enjoyment of those moments, he also appreciated it that for once, the plans had worked out. Even Albert's wife had behaved herself, at least by her standards, and was keeping her hands on the table where everyone could see them rather than endanger her table partners' propriety.

"Exactly what have you done to my brother?" Alexandra (the Luxembourgian one, not Andrea's sister, because the latter would never ask that question about Pierre) wanted to know when Andrea stopped by her side during one of his rounds to make sure his guests were happy. 

He blinked with almost convincing innocence. "What could I possibly do to Guillaume?"

"Do you really want me to start?" Tilting her head, Alexandra gave him a curious once-over. "But whatever you did, he's downright jumpy around you."

"Jumpy?"

"Jumpy," she confirmed. "The last time I saw him this much on edge around someone during a party was after that time Amedeo was stuck in New Zealand for half a year or so and Guillaume was desperate to get him naked." She paused, eyes narrowing. "I presume that's not the case here."

Had he been drinking something, he'd be choking right now at the mere idea. "Heavens, no. Well, I can't speak for him and I wouldn't blame him for some unrequited lust, but I fear it's going to have to stay that way."

Alexandra's expression said that she was going to accept his answer and not call him out on the half-hearted joke either. The disadvantage of dealing with a woman who'd grown up with four brothers, not all of them as well-mannered as Guillaume: she knew only too well how to handle the men around her. 

And speaking of which... "Got plans for September already, by the way?" she asked, suddenly all innocence.

Andrea watched her cautiously. "What if I say no?"

"Then you're getting a wedding invitation in the next few days."

"So you've finally bagged your Habsburg?" he teased. "Congratulations. What did your brother say to it?"

Alexandra grimaced. "That I'd better have a very good idea of what I'm getting myself into."

"Well, he's speaking from experience," Andrea drawled. "There's no denying that those archdukes are a handful."

She winked at him. "Only if you don't know how to keep them in line." And she would, at that, valkyrie-in-training as she was. "It's a good thing we can point to Guillaume and Amedeo as precedent, that way no-one can really complain about it."

Andrea quirked an eyebrow at that. "They would?"

Alexandra shrugged. "Second cousins. Which really is far enough removed that we aren't talking genetically endangered offspring, it's just one set of great-grandparents we share. You try finding two people with a title these days who aren't related in any way, it's absolutely impossible."

"I'm fairly sure you and I aren't related," he pointed out with a lazy grin. "Not within eight or nine degrees, minimum."

"That may be the case, but you're married so you aren't an option. Or are you going to sell me Pierre?"

The mere thought of his brother teaming up with her was too frightening to contemplate. Pierre would eventually find the right woman, Andrea was sure about that, and she was bound to be formidable because that was what it took to survive in the Monegasque insanity in the long run. In the last few years, Pierre had seemed content to have the occasional fling, but nothing more serious had come from it so far. 

"No, keep your Habsburg, someone needs to be kind and give those archdukes a home. Clearly they're doing well with you Nassaus."

"I'll point that out to Paps, he isn't completely convinced yet."

Andrea cocked his head. "He isn't? Why not, surely Amedeo has proved himself to be more than just an acceptable son-in-law. And Joachim is what, the middle child from that litter? He's bound to be all meek and dutiful and completely hen-pecked with all those sisters." Or perhaps Grand Duke Henri's reluctance came more from the fact that Alexandra was his only daughter, in which case Andrea could easily relate. If the new peanut turned out to be a girl, he planned on not letting her out of his sight until she was at least forty. With Stefano, he might let go around thirty-five, if the boy promised to be sensible.

Alexandra mock-slapped his arm. "Be nice, you."

"As the lady commands," Andrea told her with a picture-perfect bow, then was abandoned when Charlotte stopped by to drag her off for some women-only purposes. Perhaps they were planning on engineering a take-over of an unsuspecting country somewhere; with the royal females, you could never be sure.

He made the rounds for a little while, doing his best to greet all his guests in person and stop by to exchange at least a few words with everyone. It wasn't the easiest thing to do with such a large crowd, but it was something he'd learned how to do in the past years and it was going to come in handy in the future. Albert hardly bothered anymore to be a good host even at his own events; he expected to have praise and adoration laid at his feet by his guests, that was it. The actual work fell to Andrea and his mother most of the time, the sort of mistake that meant Albert was losing sympathies while they were gaining them. 

"Those hockey players Theodora brought are drawing quite a crowd," Tatiana told him when they met up in a quiet corner for a minute to swap reports and figure out whether they needed to focus their attention somewhere. "I think we should invite them more often, it could be interesting."

"Interesting might just be the word for it," Andrea agreed with a grin. "The photographers almost fell over themselves earlier when Theodora and that Biz-Nasty guy did vodka shots to raise money for Motrice." 

It had been a thoroughly impressive sight, and worth it just for the incredulous looks of the mostly innocent bystanders. Andrea hadn't thought he'd ever get to see someone match Theodora's stamina in the drinks department.

Tatiana's thoughts seemed to go in the same direction. "Next time, make it a proper competition. They're feeling more comfortable when there's safety in numbers anyway."

"They travel in packs." Andrea frowned. "How many did she bring, aside from her boy toy?" he asked, leaning close to claim a quick kiss. He hadn't had much opportunity so far to be near her that evening, and he'd grown tired of watching her just from afar. Being by her side was so much better.

"Six in total, I think, including a goalie. Carl was already rambling about staging an impromptu match when I stopped by him earlier."

"Let's hope he forgets about that, or we'll scraping Swedish Prince off the carpets for the next few days."

Tatiana nodded in firm agreement. "I think Wills is on it already. Have you seen Harry anywhere? He's up to something, I'm sure about that."

"Let Alex worry about him, she knows how to keep him in line." Andrea attempted to nuzzle her ear, but was thwarted by her ducking away to keep him off her floor-length dress. Fortunately she'd skipped the wig, but except for that she looked as though she'd stepped straight from one of the ancestral portraits on the walls, all blue silk and flowing fabrics that almost hid her belly from view. Andrea still wasn't entirely sure what he thought about that. Stefano, on the other hand, had happily babbled about princesses when they'd stopped by the nursery to say goodnight as soon as they'd been able to sneak away from the ball for a few minutes. The peanut was going to grow up with a really skewed idea of royal fashions, with Mama looking like Marie Antoinette tonight and with his royal uncles liable to turn up in car-print shorts and washed-out t-shirts on occasion.

He had to leave Tatiana again all too soon, but not before making sure that she wasn't exhausting herself. That she let him fuss in public hopefully was due to intentions of presenting a united front, rather than an actual need for it; Andrea unobtrusively recruited Pierre to keep an eye on her while he went on another round among their guests.

"What have you done to Guillaume?" Mette-Marit wanted to know when he stopped by her side at a commanding wave of her hand.

Andrea gave her an affronted look. "Why is everybody asking me that?"

"Because it's obvious you did something with the poor guy, he's all meek and obedient. Did you finally threaten to chain him up in the dungeons until he sees sense?"

"Actually, that's not even a bad idea. But I really didn't do anything, I just talked to him."

Mette-Marit treated him to an inquisitive look, and it was hard to hold still under her scrutiny. "Just talked."

"I swear we've been playing nice."

She arched an eyebrow. "I doubt that, I know you two too well for that."

He gave her his best unsure-but-game smile, and tried for a distraction. "Tatiana mentioned something about a gathering of all you lovely ladies?"

"Máxima is calling it a consort camp," Mette-Marit said, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "The perfect opportunity for all of us to share some tips and tricks when it comes to handling our heirs."

"And where would this... consort camp, " _Valhalla_ , he inwardly dubbed it, "take place?"

She shrugged. "We're thinking about London. The Duke of Edinburgh has hinted that he might participate."

"How very nice..." And he'd better tell Wills and Carl to run and hide in Scotland until the invasion was over, because London clearly wasn't going to be a safe place during that time. Unless, of course, Carl was invited as well, in which case Wills was probably doomed. "Has Tatiana said yet whether she'll come?"

"She's planning to, I believe. Amedeo's been doing his best to convince her."

Andrea made a mental note to be the perfect husband from now on so he didn't risk incurring the wrath of the assembled consorts. With his ties of friendship to the younger generation of royals by now reasonably solid, he wasn't so worried anymore about being left to hang out and dry by himself if he ever really needed assistance from his peer group, but he knew that he couldn't take it for granted. They were all making exceptions to the unspoken rules when they included the Grimaldis in anything: no future kings and queens needed to bother with mere princes of a tiny, inconsequential rock. Every time one of them came to Monaco for an official event, it added a little bit of glamour to the principality's reputation, something which was sorely needed these days. 

Andrea genuinely liked them, now that he knew them well enough not to be respectfully awed anymore, but he also had more pragmatic reasons to maintain those ties of friendship. There were a few exceptions, of course, cases where he'd always put the personal connection far before the political one, but there was no denying that even with Carl and Wills there never was a clean line between private affection and the public message their interactions sent. 

"Plotting something?" Carl asked when he wound up by Andrea's side at one of the bars, waiting for the bartender to prepare drinks. 

Andrea shot him a quick, half-serious smile. "Just thinking about how I should be on my best behaviour around you consorts."

Carl grinned. "Smart move. You don't want to annoy us, we're all sticking together."

"Exactly, and I don't want to turn into a persona non grata and have Máxima and Mette-Marit come after me." Carl's drink arrived, and Andrea spared it an amused smirk when he saw the fruity decoration. "Don't tell me Amedeo's taste in cocktails finally got to you."

"Vitamins," Carl said dismissively. "And it's not like we go around plotting how to make you heirs afraid of us."

Andrea fluttered his eyelashes at him. "So you still love me?"

Laughing, Carl reached out to ruffle his hair. "Naturally. And I'll love you even more if you tell me what sort of peanut you're getting this time."

It didn't take much effort to look desperate at that. "We have no idea. I swear it."

"Oh come on, no kid manages to hide that well."

"Ours do, trust me on that." They were taking it in stride this time, but there was a lot less hinging on this peanut's gender. With Stefano it had been a question of whether they'd need to adjust the constitution to allow for a girl to succeed if she happened to be the oldest, but that no longer mattered now. They'd get around to it eventually, Andrea knew, but the pressure was off for now. 

He only needed to look to England to be glad about that reprieve. With Beatrice pregnant, too, they were facing the same problem and if Andrea was reading the signs correctly, they were about to have a future queen and not a king. There hadn't been any official statements so far, but it was the only explanation for the current mad scramble all over the Commonwealth to get the Act of the Succession modernised and adjusted. With them it was a huge effort compared to Monaco; sixteen nations who all needed to agree to it, compared to sending a message off to France to inform them about an adjustment to an arcane bit of constitution.

And who knew, if Albert got it into his head to legitimise one of his children, it would be a moot point anyway. He hadn't mentioned that possibility lately, but Andrea didn't think he'd forgotten about it, if only because it was one of the last viable threats he had left. Sometimes Andrea didn't even feel all that bothered by the idea, but there also were times like tonight, when Monaco was presenting its best side and was truly something to be proud of and when the idea of Albert ruining it all by sheer carelessness was simply unacceptable.

"You should have gone for the baroque theme years ago," Theodora told him when she managed to snatch him up for a dance, a daunting enterprise thanks to her dress with its wide hoop skirt that had her looking like a green ball of fluff more than anything else. However men in the past had managed to navigate around women in such enormous clothing remained a mystery for the ages, as far as Andrea was concerned. "Proper eccentric fun, exactly what you need. The press is going to be over this for days, and they won't care the least about your uncle this time."

"They'll probably comment on him not being in costume," Andrea said. It was a move he didn't quite understand, since it made Albert stick out like a sore thumb, but he'd given up wondering. "I don't think he'll like not getting much attention."

Theodora gave an eloquent shrug. "It's his fault, so who cares. Have you heard yet that we're getting a Habsburg wedding?"

Andrea threw her an amused look. "I'm ahead of you on that one, my dear," he told her. "Unless you know about another one."

"No, we're probably talking about the same one. I thought you'd be too important by now to get all the good gossip." 

They navigated around Amedeo and Mette-Marit, careful not to get into their way since they seemed to apply the idea of survival of the fittest to the dance floor right now. No more sweeping gowns, Andrea decided; those things were an absolute menace. "I'm fairly sure that knowing all the good gossip is part of my job description," he said. "And even if it isn't, it's far too much fun to let go of it."

Laughing, Theodora managed to lean close enough to peck him on the cheek. "Then we'll keep you in the loop."

"Anything new from your side?" he asked, half teasing, half serious. "Or has your mother given up on you by now?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me. She's convinced that I'll end up as an old spinster and that it will be absolutely tragic."

"Not too fond of hockey players, is she?"

"Oh, that isn't the problem. Jarret has already been told in no uncertain terms by Papa that he can have me if he wants to. Well, it was said a bit more subtly, but that's what it boils down to. Next they'll arrange a wedding and spring it on us as the great surprise when we come to visit."

"If I ever get an invitation, I'll make sure to check with you first," Andrea promised. 

Theodora gave him an approving nod as they slowly came to a halt when the dance ended. "You do that. Or I'll hold you responsible if I find myself married without noticing."

***

A week after the Rose Ball, Andrea spent a quiet day at home in Saint-Rémy with Tatiana, for once not under any particular pressure of engagements or governmental issues. All he had to worry about was how to convince Tatiana to let him fetch and carry for her, how to make Stefano understand that spinach wasn't meant to double as hair dye, and whether to take a gamble on the nursery colours this time or not. 

And of course there was the press conference in London, held by Wills and Carl to finally kill all the rumours about getting a divorce. It was a logical step, Andrea felt: take a stand and show the bastards that they were barking up the wrong tree. Even without any actual signs, the British press had no longer looked ready in any way to let up; that story had been far too juicy to pass. The first gay princely couple, divorced for mysterious reasons... it would have provided gossip fodder for decades to come. 

"This isn't going to end well," Tatiana observed almost an hour into the conference (broadcast on several news networks, all of them hoping for a scoop). "Look at Carl, any moment now he'll get stubborn and refuse to say anything more."

"He'd better not, they'll only take that as an admission that something's wrong." Scooting closer to her on the sofa, Andrea slipped an arm around her and dropped a kiss on the tip of her ear when she leaned against him. "But Wills must know that."

She hummed in agreement. "Looks like he does, he's taken over the replies for now. Did they say anything about why they've made it an open conference? Half of those reporters sound completely incompetent. How many more times are they going to ask whether there'll be a divorce? Next they'll try extracting a confession under torture."

"They aren't far off, Carl's all twitchy already and this isn't going to make him any more relaxed around the press for the future," Andrea said. He could see the telltale signs in his friend; Carl had never been good at hiding his unease when he was the focus of media attention, and the way he kept clenching and uncurling his hands and nibbling on his lower lip was making Andrea jumpy in commiseration.

"If they keep this up for much longer, it's going to get interesting," Tatiana said. "And Wills isn't going to take it well if they manage to completely unsettle Carl, he's possessive at the best of times already."

Her prediction came true mere minutes later, when yet another inane line of questioning had Carl throw all caution to the wind, grab Wills and snog him senseless.

The two of them stared at the TV screen in rapt fascination. 

"That's a novel approach," Tatiana ventured after a minute.

Andrea opened his mouth to reply, but had no idea what to say. They couldn't have done it intentionally, Wills would never have agreed. He didn't mind public displays of affection, but this simply wasn't his style. On the other hand, it wasn't Carl's, either, though with him it could probably be blamed on sheer exasperation. 

"Looks like the press has their story for tomorrow," Tatiana said as the kiss was shown once more in all its epic glory. "That should put an end to the rumours. We'd better keep this in mind in case they ever start on us."

Andrea glanced at her. "Do you think we'll ever give them reason to think so?" he asked.

Cocking her head, she met his eyes. "Of course not. But it pays to have contingency plans."

***  
 _April 2020_  
***

"It's fairly straightforward when you think about it," Andrea's mother said, linking her arm with Tatiana's as they walked down the small side street from their lunch spot back to their house. "You need to make it plain from the beginning that you're the one in charge and that, if you need to, you will snip off important bits."

Walking behind them with an eye on Stefano, Andrea hoped that she was talking metaphorically, though with his mother he was never entirely sure. Fortunately the people around them seemed to be of the former opinion, since all they did was give them bright smiles but didn't bother them in any way. The advantage of Saint-Rémy - the people here felt possessive enough of their princess and her children to respect their privacy. In return, there was princely participation for as many events in town as possible and the school children were treated to rather unique guest speakers at times. Pierre's visit of two years ago was already firmly anchored in local legend, both for his unorthodox career advice and the fact that he'd brought an elephant to prove some obscure point. 

"And don't forget," Andrea's mother went on, "to occasionally do unexpected things. They want you to be predictable. You want to keep them on their toes. Politicians are so much easier to handle that way, it makes them nervous when they're faced with someone who doesn't act according to their rules."

"Their rules being whatever gets them the most benefits, I presume," Tatiana said and received a nod in return. "Which isn't what gets Monaco the most benefits. Or us, for that matter."

"It makes them pliable if you feed them the occasional crumb, so don't cut them off completely."

By Andrea's side, Stefano murmured something and tiredly nestled closer. He'd spent most of lunch in the restaurant's yard, playing in the sandbox with a handful of other children, and was now happy, muddy and completely worn out. It promised to be a quiet afternoon, because if Andrea was any judge, their little peanut would be out like a light for an hour or two. The downside was that he'd be wide awake for dinner, so bedtime was likely to turn into an elaborate and late procedure. 

"How many do we have right now?" Tatiana asked.

Andrea's mother leaned towards her, close enough that Andrea, just a few steps behind her, had trouble catching her words. "It's an even split on the National Council, but that's bound to change with the next election thanks to the plurality system. If we have to cause an early vote, we can do that within three months."

A call to Uncle Amedeo probably was in order tonight, Andrea decided, for one of those bedtime stories that always had an almost magical effect on Stefano. And Andrea, too, would need something reassuring and fun if his two ladies continued in this vein.

Tatiana glanced back at him, a smile on her face when she spotted Stefano's tired face. "What about the governmental counsellors?" she asked, turning back to Andrea's mother. "Any progress with Moreau?"

"No, and I don't think there's going to be any in the future."

"Which leaves us without the Counsellor in charge of urban planning," Tatiana said, clearly displeased. Andrea shared that sentiment; Pierre had been working on that woman for weeks now, but she clearly figured that it was better for her to keep Albert in charge rather than risk a change in government while she held her cushy position. But they needed that council seat if they wanted to do more than just delay Albert's grandiose construction projects. 

Slowly exhaling, Andrea's mother inclined her head. "Not really. We can't get Moreau, so we'll just move her on to bigger, better things. Dupont is retiring in autumn, Moreau can just go and take the foreign relations position. It's not as if she'll be able to do any damage from there, but she'll love the representing. We can send her off to a flattering embassy in a year or so to get her out of our hair."

Tatiana hummed thoughtfully. "And the new one?"

"Will be one of ours."

Andrea wondered if Albert had any idea what was going on around him. They'd moved slowly, their efforts spread out over years by now. One councillor at a time, using resignations and ends of terms of office to replace those supporting the Prince of Monaco with those loyal to his older sister. A few more months and they'd be the ones pulling the strings, even if he had no idea about it. 

"So we'll wait for that?"

Andrea's mother nodded. "I think we should. It's going to make things easier afterwards. The more people in essential positions support us, the better, and we still have a few more spots to fill. Unless you want to make a move now?"

From behind, Andrea could see the dip of Tatiana's head as she glanced down at her belly, one hand coming forward. "No. If we can, we wait. Autumn sounds like a good idea."

Autumn sounded like a frightening idea, in Andrea's opinion, but he didn't say that. Right now there was the pregnancy to consider, in autumn there would be the second peanut. But there'd be something next year, too, and the year after. 

Cuddling Stefano for a moment, he received a sleepy murmur in return, along with a snuffle and the feeling of small, sticky hands clumsily hanging on to his neck. This was what he feared so much that he'd miss out on if he was tied up even more with official affairs, and it was what held him back the most, this threat of not having enough time for the peanuts and for his wife. But then he'd see Tatiana, determined to carve out their dues, and felt foolish for even thinking that she'd allow that to happen.

***  
 _May 2020_  
***

"You know, I used to think that being the heir to the Prince of Monaco is one of the easier jobs as far as monarchies are concerned," Guillaume told him when they next ran into each other at the opening ceremony of the Games of the Small States of Europe in Reykjavik. "Then I saw them toss you out of a helicopter. I changed my mind at that point."

Andrea treated him to a haughty look. "It's all about dedication," he said as a group of people on fluffed-up ponies was doing some sort of precision riding down on the grass of the stadium, accompanied by a Björk live performance. "And it was for a good cause, my mother needed the attention for her Paralympics project. You know how that goes."

"Doesn't mean I'm about to take up skydiving."

"Your Habsburg does, though, doesn't he?"

Guillaume grimaced. "Don't remind me of that. I can do without the image of Amedeo hopping out of airplanes. There are so many branches of the military in Belgium, I have no idea why he had to pick the paratroopers for his officer's rank."

"He's a Habsburg," Andrea said with a shrug. "Explains everything. But he's stopped now, hasn't he? You don't have an air force, after all."

"Neither do you, but that doesn't appear to be much of an impediment."

"The helicopter company belongs to Pierre," he admitted. "And it's not like I'm going to make a habit of it, this was just for a good cause."

Guillaume cast him an almost amused look. "I take it this means your esteemed wife has put her foot down."

"She may have mentioned that if I do this again, I'll be sleeping on the couch for the next decade. So no more helicopters for me. Pierre's going to have to take that over." Which wasn't something Andrea minded all that much, if he was honest. There _were_ some things he was beginning to almost feel too old for, shocking as that was. "How are you doing? Do I need to shout at you again?"

The question was answered not by a glower or an exasperated sigh, but by a moment of clear consideration. Andrea fought the urge not to stare with fascination. 

"I'd appreciate it if you could refrain from shouting," Guillaume said, a tad too formal. "I assure you that there's no need for it."

Andrea gave him a quick once-over and decided that he did look less harried than he had a few weeks ago. "Good. It's really not that much fun, but if you act stupid again, I'll do it. It's for your own best, you know."

This time Guillaume sighed. "Andrea..."

"Oh, don't argue. You know as well as I do that you need to take the time to have a private life, or you'll regret it in hindsight. I don't want to miss out on seeing my children grow up, and surely you don't want to look back in ten years and wish you'd spent more time with your family and friends. We'll take on the reins soon enough."

Guillaume shot him a wry look but didn't argue. "Let's see who can avoid it for longer."

A smirk on his face, Andrea held out his hand for him to shake. "You're on," he cheerfully agreed, doing his best to focus on the bet and not on the seriousness that lay beneath the surface of it all. They'd both rule, and other than with Wills, it was a matter of years for them rather than decades, never mind that for Guillaume it was a clear-cut path everyone agreed upon while Andrea was still an entirely unofficial successor. 

They dutifully sat through the ceremony, though Andrea was soon shivering with the cold. It was the end of May, but this was Iceland so the date didn't mean much. He'd brought his warmest coat, but after half an hour he was chilled through despite all that. By his side, Guillaume didn't appear to have that problem, but Andrea was convinced by now that their Hereditary Grand Duke would have to freeze solid before he'd let anyone notice that he was not comfortable. 

Of course he also had his little tricks, as Andrea found out when Guillaume turned to look at him while commenting on the role of Monaco as the next host, frowned, and passed him a tiny heat pack that fit snugly into his coat pocket. 

"You really need to figure out how to survive these events," he murmured in response to Andrea's grateful whisper. 

"I need to figure out how to avoid them," Andrea corrected. "I've got two sisters who're far more interested in sports than I am. Far better at it, too." Charlotte was among the top ten equestrians on the world championship circle by now, and while Alexandra wasn't doing figure skating competitions anymore, she was still sticking to her regular training sessions. Compared to Andrea, who tended to view exercise as a necessary evil rather than something he particularly enjoyed, they were far more suitable to stand as representatives at sports events. 

And he'd have happily let either of them take his place if it hadn't been an explicit assignment from Albert that he be in Reykjavik to represent Monaco while the competitions went on. It didn't sit well at all with Andrea to be gone from home these days, with Tatiana only four weeks away from her due date, and he'd been ready to refuse and stay at home until she'd encouraged him to go. Not that he'd fussed that much this time, and he still couldn't understand why she'd kicked him out for a few days more than once during this pregnancy as well. All he did was be as attentive as he could, but somehow that strategy seemed to backfire at times. 

His mother and Pierre were keeping an eye on her, and along with their twice-daily phone calls, Andrea felt marginally assured that the situation was under control. Despite all that he'd mapped out the best way to get back to Monaco in a hurry (ten hours by plane, or alternatively two days by ferry and train, in case Guillaume once again attracted volcano-related travel interferences, as was his wont). He wasn't going to leave Tatiana to fend for herself in case anything happened earlier than predicted, even if he had to swim to get home.

"I miss you," he told her on the phone that night, cuddled up to the heater in his hotel room, a thick blanket wrapped around his legs. "I love you, and I miss you, and I'm not going to Iceland ever again."

"Freezing, are you?" she teased, her voice such a welcome distraction. "I thought they have all those geothermal springs to heat the place."

"They do, but it's still Iceland. The name itself is offensive already." He should have protested harder; he knew how cold Sweden could be in early summer, so it was hardly a surprise that Iceland wasn't exactly tropical. "Is everything all right at home?"

"Stefano has discovered that his crayons work really well on your jeans and my summer skirts," Tatiana reported. 

Andrea winced. "We'll go shopping once I'm back?" he hazarded. 

A chuckle sounded in his ear and made him long to be back home so he could see the twinkle in her eyes that always showed when she was amused. "I'll keep them like this. Unique designer pieces, no-one else has them now. Perhaps Carl is right when he says that Stefano has artistic talent."

"Of course he has that, no doubt about it. So that was the most exciting thing at home?"

"The most exciting I got to experience, at least." She seemed grumbly at that, and Andrea breathed a sigh of relief when she chose not to dwell on the point. "Pierre is staying overnight as well. I've tried to make him go home, but you know what he's like."

"Obsessively occupied with your safety and well-being? To be quite honest, I really don't mind it when he acts like that." As long as he didn't get in Andrea's way, at least. There were definite fussing rights, and Pierre had better know when he was expected to step back. It was immensely reassuring to know that he was nearby and keeping an eye on the situation, though; aside from Tatiana, Pierre was the person Andrea trusted the most, and he couldn't think of a better guardian for his wife and son in case something went wrong.

"You try having him follow you every waking hour of the day, usually with a glass of milk and a plate of snacks in hand," Tatiana growled. "I know he means well, but if he keeps this up for much longer... I'd murder him if I weren't reduced to waddling. He'll easily get away if I try."

"You're cute when you waddle," Andrea said before he could stop himself. "And when you don't. Beautiful either way, absolutely perfect and I can't think of a woman I'd rather see and I'll shut up now before you banish me to this icy wasteland forever."

She laughed at that, just as he'd hoped she would. "You're a handful, Andrea Casiraghi," she said and he knew that the use of his old name was deliberate. "I should have known that from the start. But you're _my_ handful, and I'm not going to banish you to Iceland. I've spent far too much time training you to waste that."

"I feel reassured already," he drawled, clinging to her words. Four days, then he'd be allowed to go home again. "Have I mentioned that I miss you?"

"I miss you too," she echoed, and he could hear it in her voice as well as in her words. "Make sure you get back in one piece. Don't let any polar bears eat you."

"They'll go for Guillaume, he's a much tastier morsel," he said. 

"You've got a point there." 

He arched an eyebrow. "Do I need to worry?"

"Of course, remember I've been having a wild affair with him while you were busy with... whoever the tabloids think you've been flirting with." She paused. "You know, I think we may need to convince them after all that we haven't had affairs left and right."

"They aren't speculating that much. And only the really bad gossip rags." But she had a point there; it had accompanied their marriage almost from the start, and while not even the main yellow papers had picked up on the stories, there was permanent speculation among the bottom feeders. It didn't look like an immediate problem, and they received a lot of media comments on their solid relationship from all the rest whenever they drew some attention to themselves. But it might be better to put a stop to it before they ended up in a situation similar to that of Wills and Carl. "Shall I kiss you at a press conference?"

Laughing, Tatiana sounded as though she was blowing him a kiss. "That sounds like it could be fun." She paused then and he heard her say something unintelligible to someone else before she came back on. "Stefano wants to talk to you. He's missing you."

Andrea missed him too, and listening to his peanut babble happily at him over the phone was only a pale imitation of the real thing. He wanted to be back home, badly. 

Four more days, he thought as he talked to his son. Four more days until he had them back.

***  
 _June 2020_  
***

June in Monaco was never an easy month. The F1 Grand Prix was over and dealt with, which moved the main event of the year out of the way, but instead of relaxing, everybody only had time to take a deep breath before the parties, fashion shows and social functions took over. People had noticed that Andrea and his siblings were making an effort to participate in as many of those events as possible and that they usually brought a handful of friends who tended to fall under the heading of glamorous (though most of them would have fallen over with laughter at hearing that). It was a draw Monaco needed badly - they had to bring the special something back, the unique charm of the principality that was as much a mix of Hollywood glamour, blue blood and beauty, edged with just a hint of seductive disrepute. 

Pierre and Charlotte easily led the way in this, and Andrea and Alexandra shouldered their own share as well. They flirted and flattered their ways through an endless number of get-togethers of every level of formality, always intent on presenting just the right image. It worked, too, if Andrea took the steadily increasing amount of invitations as an indication of success. They were sought-after guests, much more than Albert had ever been, and when people noticed that they carefully picked their appearances, the parties began a slow but steady shift towards the stylish and dazzling. It would take years to get them back to the level they'd stood at under Andrea's grandfather, but it was a beginning.

And it was bloody exhausting. Andrea liked being out, he enjoyed the buzz and the chance to spend time with interesting people. But there was a point where he simply needed a night with more than a few hours of sleep. When Tatiana's looks shifted from amused concern to open worry, he cancelled his participation in the fêtes of the next two days and, for the first time in three weeks, had a full night's sleep. 

He woke up to the glimpse of noontime sunshine through the blinds, the rumbling sound of Stefano playing with his toy car, and the irritated voice of his uncle. 

Frowning, Andrea rolled out of bed, pulled on shorts and, on second thought, a loose t-shirt from the closet, and padded into the living room, hands in his hair in an attempt to pat it down into something approaching respectability. 

"... and you really should know better than that," Albert was saying when Andrea stepped through the door. He was sitting on the couch, arms crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed with displeasure. It was a look Andrea knew only too well by now, and one he didn't like to encounter in his own home.

Tatiana turned her head when she heard him come in, and there was enough pale anger in her face to make Andrea move towards her side rather than to Albert for a polite greeting before he tried to figure out what was going on. 

"See?" she snapped at Albert. "Now you've got what you wanted, he's awake. Satisfied?"

Ignoring her tone, Albert nodded. "You still should have woken him and not kept me waiting. I don't have the time for that sort of thing."

No, he probably was far too busy having fun with his cronies, Andrea thought uncharitably. He bent down to kiss the top of Tatiana's head before she could try and rise from her high-backed chair. "Is everything all right?" he asked quietly. 

She gave him a look of pure irritation. "Your uncle," she said, her voice hard with anger, "has deigned to grace us with his presence because he thinks it absolutely unacceptable that you're not going to change your plans and attend the party that one of his flunkies is staging tonight."

Over on the couch, Albert straightened. "Ilya is an important man and he deserves to be treated that way."

"He's a bastard with his fingers in enough illegal business to make the Mafia take note," Tatiana growled. "We're not dealing with him, don't hold your breath for us to change our mind."

"Andrea will do as I say."

Andrea sighed. "Uncle Albert, with all due respect, but no. Not tonight." And not with one of Albert's Russian business partners. Those men scared the crap out of Andrea and it took a major effort not to let them see it. He'd had plenty of encounters with people who were comfortable on both sides of the law lately - Monaco had always been, and would continue to be, a place where a certain amount of shady business was unavoidable. But there was a difference between the established players, who stuck to an unwritten code of rules, and the mostly Russian new arrivals who didn't bother with such outdated concepts. 

"This isn't up for debate," Albert said with a dismissive wave of his hand before he tucked it under his folded arms again. "You will go."

Leaning against Tatiana, just enough to feel her shoulder against his side, Andrea shook his head. "No. Not tonight," he repeated. "I need a break, I won't do this on such short notice. I already cancelled another invitation, it would be more than impolite if I'm seen at someone else's party."

"I don't care. Come up with a good excuse, but you'll go and be on the terrace of Maxim's tonight. Ilya is about to invest a lot of money, we've got to make him feel good."

"You mean he hasn't bribed enough of your lackeys yet and they're clamouring for you to butter him up," Tatiana muttered. "Brilliant strategy."

"Be quiet, you have no idea how this works."

Andrea felt Tatiana tense against him and dropped his hand to her shoulder, part support and part caution.

"Be quiet? _Be quiet_? Who do you think you are to order me to be quiet?"

There was a faint whiff of consternation in Albert's expression as he realised his mistake. "You are not part of the official side of Monaco, my dear, you don't have the insights I do."

"She's my wife," Andrea said quietly before Tatiana could counter. "She understands it just as well as I do, and she's part of it all just as much as I am. And I agree with her, for that matter. I'm not spending the day with Russian mafiosi just so your flunkies can line their pockets. You want the man to be happy, go schmooze him yourself."

Albert stared at him for this open defiance, but he was beyond caring. If Albert was going to come to his and Tatiana's home, uninvited and with nothing but demands, then this was no longer a situation where cooperation was called for. 

"Andrea, you will-"

"No, I won't. I've worked my arse off for this country in the last years, you know that, even when I still don't have any actual responsibilities and you're taking it for granted that I'll be at your beck and call. But right now I'm drawing a line because I'm at a point where I _need_ a break. So I'll take it and you won't stop me."

"Don't be an idiot, boy."

He met Albert's eyes straight on. "I'm not a 'boy'. And I'm not responsible for your business relations with that man, so you're going to do this without me. I'm sure you remember how."

There was a dangerous edge to Albert's voice when he next spoke. "You're crossing a line. Say that you'll do your duty and we'll forget that this talk happened."

"My duties? What duties? You've never given me anything official to do! I've got no position, I've got no support. If I wanted to, I could walk away today!" It was tempting to do so, very tempting at this moment. 

"Then go! It's not as if you're needed. I've been doing you and your mother a favour by letting you have your share of it all, but clearly that was a mistake. Just because you think you're going to rule after me doesn't mean that this is guaranteed! You'd better get used to the idea that you're not going to get any closer to the throne than you are right now!"

Andrea hesitated for a fraction of a second, attempting to figure out how serious that threat was. Not very, he eventually decided. Unless Albert turned the principality into a republic, he'd have to get one of his illegitimate children to reign, with the necessary changes to the constitution beforehand and the hassle that was bound to be, with half the councils in the hands of the Hereditary Princess. Besides, last Andrea had heard from his cousins, they had all been more than happy not to be associated with the insanity of Monaco in any way. They weren't stupid enough to get caught up in this mess.

"I'll have to figure out what to do with my free time, then," he drawled, falling back to nonchalance until he worked out where this was going. "It's not like I had any lately. You'll have my list of scheduled engagements on your desk later, good luck making all of those. Someone's going to have to pick up the slack, and if you don't want it to be me or Mama, I guess it's going to have to be you."

It was just a second of silence from Albert, but that was enough to show Andrea that his uncle had noticed the strategic flaw in his plan. "You'll not drop everything. You'll do as ordered and I'll review your position once you've handled your duties."

Andrea frowned at him. "I thought I'm no longer needed?" he asked sharply. 

"Andrea..." Tatiana murmured, her hand coming up to cover his where it still rested on her shoulder. 

"You aren't, I'm doing you a favour and you'd better appreciate that!"

"A favour? You are doing _me_ a favour? I've worked my arse off in your name in the last years and you know it. Do you really want to find out how much fun it's going to be to do it all by yourself?"

Tatiana's grip on his hand tightened in what he presumed was warning. 

"I am the Prince of Monaco, I'm perfectly capable of ruling this country without the amateur advice of my nephew!"

"Go ahead, don't let me keep you from demonstrating how to handle it all," Andrea told him. "Since I've done such a bad job."

"Don't take that tone with me,you-"

"Will you two finally stop it and shut up!" Tatiana interrupted, her voice tight, and when Andrea looked down at her, she was even paler than before. 

Albert blinked at her, unaccustomed to being cut off like that, but something about her seemed to tell him that it was the best strategy in terms of survival.

"Tatiana?" Andrea ventured carefully after a moment's hesitation. Her grip on his hand was beginning to become painful.

She treated him to a dark glare. "Go kick him out."

"But I'm-" Albert tried, but she overrode him with an angry snarl. 

"Have your ego trip elsewhere," she snapped. "Andrea, get Pierre to pick up Stefano. We're having a baby."

***

It turned out to be a highly effective way of shutting up Albert, even though they wouldn't be able to repeat it for another nine months at least. Not that Andrea cared much; he was far too focused on much more important matters to worry about his uncle right now. 

"You've got a goddaughter," he reported to Carl at four in the morning, high on adrenaline, caffeine and amazement. "Louise. Do me a favour and remember it, I've already mixed up when I texted Guillaume, he thinks we've got twins."

Carl went from sleep-befuddled grumbling to cheerful excitement in two seconds flat. "Congratulations! Is everyone all right?"

"Tatiana's sleeping now, but yes. Everything's as it should be." Or so people kept telling him; despite the reassurances, Andrea still felt rattled at knowing what he'd put Tatiana through for a second time now, never mind that she'd been an active participant at the time. 

"And the new peanut?"

Was no less astonishing than Stefano had been, and Andrea still had to work on wrapping his mind around the idea that they'd made another little human. He didn't think it was something he'd ever really get used to. "Sleeping too, and taking after her Mama if I'm any judge."

"Lucky girl," Carl teased. In the background, Andrea heard Wills murmur a sleepy question and Carl's quiet answer. "Congratulations from Wills, too. And now off with you, go play Papa."

Which he did, or at least tried to do, because ten minutes later he was asleep in a chair by Tatiana's bed, his head pillowed against her thigh on the covers and her hand cradled in his.

***  
 _August 2020_  
***

For a little while, Andrea didn't care much about the world at large because he was far more interested in his family than anything else. Thanks to Pierre and their mother, it didn't matter in any way that he'd essentially absented himself. They'd seamlessly taken over for him and he knew he'd be grateful once his mind wasn't so very focused on smaller, more private and far more important concerns. 

June slipped into July and then August almost without him noticing; Monaco shut down under the summer heat and nobody seemed to care that he and Tatiana were in Saint-Rémy, away from prying eyes and intrusions. It would be their best chance for a while to spend uninterrupted time together, they both knew, so they were making as much use of it as they could. The change from the fast-paced life in Monaco was startling, and Andrea knew that if it went on for too long, they'd both miss the more active social life they had there. But for a few weeks, it was a break they hadn't really noticed that they needed. Besides, as they found out really quickly, getting bored with a toddler and a newborn in the house was absolutely impossible, as was sleeping for more than two hours at any given time of the day. 

The christening came at just the right point, before either of them could develop a case of cabin fever or the urge to dump the kids on Pierre and make a run for it. 

"You need to stop calling Guillaume, Carl and Theodora the godparental ménage à trois," Tatiana observed the day after the church ceremony. She and Andrea had settled down on a deck chair in the garden that morning after chasing Carl and Amedeo out for a run and conscripting Wills and Guillaume to babysit their respective godchildren. The advantage of house guests, Andrea thought; they couldn't really say no to those kinds of requests. 

"But they are," he protested, lazily stretching his arms. "I'm still waiting to see whether Carl or Guillaume will crack first."

Tatiana treated him to the sort of look usually reserved for Stefano whenever the peanut insisted on being exceptionally petulant. It had the same effect on Andrea; he ducked his his head and shot her an apologetic smile until she petted his hair and sighed with exasperation. 

"Too late," she said. "Ten years ago you'd have had easy success with that, but they're far too used to each other now."

Andrea hummed in agreement to that. He'd never entirely worked out the reasons for Carl's caution around Guillaume and the corresponding unease, but it seemed to have been dealt at some point. An alliance for a common cause, Andrea figured; they were both stuck in the same situation as royals with men for partners, so it would have been downright stupid not to present a united front. And even if they had been stubborn enough to give it a try, their husbands would never have let them get away with it.

"Pierre talked to me yesterday," he said, changing the topic to something that had been on his mind since last evening. "He and Mama are starting to make their move."

Tatiana considered that. "Now?"

"I think they're worried that Albert's going to do something stupid. He's grown more reckless lately, there's no denying that." He sighed and carefully slid his arm around her shoulders to tuck her closer. "I'd have no problem if we could keep the status quo going for another decade, but they're getting nervous."

"So what's the plan? Put you on the throne already?" Tatiana didn't sound excited at the prospect, and he couldn't blame her. It would put an end to many private aspects of their life, and even if the two of them could deal with it, there were Stefano and Louise to consider. Growing up in a goldfish bowl wasn't fun in any way, he only had to look at his royal friends to know that. 

"No, for now they're leaving him formally in charge, but they're getting serious about turning the councils."

Tatiana's eyes narrowed with interest. "Did he say how much progress they've made on the Conseil de Gouvernement? I meant to ask your mother, but there wasn't an opportunity lately."

"Four seats now," Andrea said, and they both knew what that meant. Four out of six counsellors, enough to control what was essentially Monaco's governing body. "They're waiting for an opportunity to move one of our counsellors up as Minister of State, but that won't come before winter unless Pierre manages to dig up a scandal somewhere."

Or create one, but he didn't say that out loud. Monegasque politics were twisted and convoluted enough without using those kinds of measures. 

"If that works out, then it all should stabilise. Who cares if Albert stays nominally in charge, it's not as if he's interested enough in any actual governing to care what the councils get up to." Tatiana drew a deep, satisfied breath. "When's the next election for the Conseil National? Still in two years, or are they planning to change that?"

"I think that's the timeline for us," Andrea said. "I didn't ask him directly, but it makes sense, doesn't it? Take over the actual government in all but name, then turn the Conseil National at the next opportunity and formalise it. Once they're ours as well, it's done."

Two years. He clung to that extension, because every month he didn't have to ascend to the throne was precious. 

"Don't look so worried," Tatiana told him quietly. "You'll manage, and you'll be great at it."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "Thanks for that vote of confidence."

She smiled back. "If it's any consolation, you can't possibly be worse than Albert. But I really don't think you've got anything to worry about. You know how this works."

"I do, and that's what worries me," he admitted. "Just look at it all. There are so many problems piling up in every corner. I wish I knew if this is still doable or if we aren't better off declaring bankruptcy and escaping to Rio."

Tatiana pretended to think about that. "The idea has a certain appeal," she teased. "Do you think Pierre will let you escape?"

"And leave him behind to deal with this mess by himself? He'll catch us at the border. He's probably got tracking devices on us somewhere, there's no way he'll risk us running away."

"In that case we'll have to smuggle you out," Tatiana suggested. "I could wrap you in a carpet, surely that would work."

Andrea waggled his eyebrows. "You want me to pretend I'm Cleopatra?"

"It worked for her, so why not?" Tatiana pecked his cheek and wriggled against him until she'd found a comfortable position. "I don't think you've got any need to run," she said, turning serious again. "You're going to be good at this."

He sighed softly, not entirely happy to abandon their more playful mood. "I know. I just don't know whether that's going to be enough. Perhaps if we can stabilise it all before we do the hand-over... If Albert abandons ship now, it's only going to add to the chaos."

Tatiana shook her head. "He won't, he likes his position far too much for that. As long as there's plenty of flattery for him and he gets to play at those pointless international events, he'll be happy. He knows far too well that once he steps down, nobody's going to care what he does."

Which might be a good thing, since nobody had taken him serious for years now. Not even the environmentalists were keen on having him as a means to attract attention, and that had been the field Albert had always tried to establish himself in. But no-one wanted to listen to a man who preached the importance of renewable energy, electric cars and the carbon footprint, and arrived at all events by private jet. 

"So we just let him think he's still got something to say and that I'm just kind and doing all his work?" he asked. 

A tiny smile on her face, Tatiana nodded. "Exactly. Be the perfect nephew and relieve your uncle of all those terrible burdens. Like actually running his country."

Andrea glanced at her. "I like the way you think," he drawled.

She winked at him. "I should hope so."

***  
 _September 2020_  
***

As imperial and royal weddings went, the Habsburgs were in a class on their own, and not just because they were the only house who could claim the double denomer. Even as a technically deposed dynasty, they didn't lower their standards one whit, and everybody else dutifully fell in line behind them. 

"This is simply weird," Andrea observed as he sat with Tatiana, Wills and Carl in one of the front pews of Brussels' Cathédrale Saints-Michel-et-Gudule and watched as House Habsburg again made what would have been considered a highly advantageous marriage in the past, and what still qualified as such among royal circles. Princess Alexandra of Luxembourg might only be the daughter of a Grand Duke, but she was a proper royal highness, she was catholic and - as opposed to the Habsburg-Nassau wedding a few years ago - brought an uterus into the marriage. Andrea suspected that her and Joachim's fathers had breathed a quiet sigh of relief that the second set of their children to pair off had done so in a more conventional combination. Still, there were Habsburgs involved so it wasn't as if anyone could call it normal.

To his left, Wills shot him a half amused, half curious look. "Weird? Why's that?"

"Because I think Amedeo is now his own brother-in-law. That seems far too complicated."

Wills just shrugged. "That's royal intermarriage for you. Be glad Alexandra doesn't become her own aunt, the Habsburgs managed that little trick a few times in the past."

Wrinkling his nose, Andrea could only shake his head. "Crazy, the lot of them."

"Admit it, you like it just because it muddles things," Tatiana said from his right, a hint of laughter in her voice. "Besides, they make a perfect couple, so be nice. Not everybody's crazy just because they're a Habsburg. Or married to one."

"The theoretical possibility may exist," Andrea conceded. "But I'm not convinced. Though perhaps it's a good thing that the Nassaus are sacrificing themselves so no-one else needs to worry about Habsburgs on the prowl for husbands and wives."

Tatiana frowned at him. "Don't tell me one of those archduchesses tried something again."

In lieu of a reply, Andrea scooted closer to her and did his best to look meek. It hadn't been anything serious, but it was slightly unnerving to have imperial and royal fingers pinch his arse. The only one who might, under specific circumstances which hadn't occurred yet, be permitted to do so was Amedeo, but he was far too busy running interference for his brother to give that a try right now.

"Seriously?" Wills wanted to know. 

"I'm irresistible, it seems."

"You're what?" Carl asked, leaning in as well to catch more than just fragments of the conversation. 

"Irresistible, but you know that already. One of the archduchesses tried to make off with me."

Carl blinked. "And Tatiana let her?"

"Not for much longer," Tatiana muttered. "I should put a collar and dog tag on you."

Andrea fluttered his eyelashes at her. "Promise?"

In the row behind them, Theodora snorted with suppressed laughter. "As if you're so incapable of defending yourself," she said. "Don't worry, Tatiana, Olympia barely got her hand on him before he was off like a scalded cat. And I think she got the idea, she's been flirting with Philippos ever since."

Poor Philippos, Andrea thought. Amedeo's cousin was more than scary when she had her attention focused on someone. There'd come the day when she'd bag a husband because the man hadn't managed to escape in time.

"It's not something the tabloids will pick up anyway, nobody knows her well enough to spin a juicy story of it," Tatiana said pragmatically. "As long as she understands that we're having a hands-off policy where Andrea is concerned."

"We?" Andrea asked. 

Tatiana smiled at him sweetly. "You mean you want to be grabbed?"

"Depends on who does the grabbing." He smirked. "Wills can grab me anytime."

"Keep dreaming," Wills told him dryly. 

"One day you'll give in," he teased back. "I'll even share you with Carl."

"And what about Tatiana?" Wills asked. 

Andrea considered that. "We could have a foursome?" he suggested with a cheeky grin on his face, and tried not to dwell on that idea because if he spared it more than a second's idle thought, he might feel a little too tempted by it for comfort. They'd all found their paths in life, there was no room for these sorts of might-have-beens. 

"Be glad the press isn't listening," Carl said. "They'd be all over this, and I really can do without another mess like that."

"They've shut up now, haven't they?" Theodora asked. "I don't see any more articles in the gossip rags."

"That's because they're all busy writing about Guillaume and you rekindling your great romance," Tatiana said. "That photo of him kissing your hand is everywhere."

Theodora laughed. "A pity they didn't do the wide shot, Amedeo was standing right behind him. And _he_ kissed me five seconds later, and not just my hand. But apparently I don't rate a Habsburg when it comes to rumours."

"They all know that you and Amedeo taking up with each other would be a sign of the impending apocalypse," Andrea told her. "The world couldn't survive it. And besides, what would you do with your boy toy?"

"Andrea..."

"Yes, yes. Why didn't you bring him today, anyway? Don't tell me you didn't have a plus one on your invitation. Or that you wouldn't have demanded one in that case."

She sighed. "It's September, hockey season already started. He's busy beating up huge Russians, he can't just hop over to Europe for a few days. And don't any of you get ideas about talking to him about that, you hear? It's perfectly fine that he's got his own career and that it sometimes comes first." She paused. "I'm looking at you, Wills."

Her cousin - a few times removed, but he didn't seem to find that an impediment to the occasional meddling, strictly for her own good of course - gave her an innocent smile. "I'm not doing anything."

"You and Carl tried to do _something_ with him at that football match a while ago. Jarret couldn't figure out what exactly you wanted, but he knows you were up to nothing good." Theodora leaned forward, one hand each on the shoulders of Wills and Carl, and murmured something to them that was too low for Andrea to catch. Whatever it was she said, though, had the immediate effect that the two shut up and did their best to appear angelic and harmless. 

Just in time, too; the ceremony started, and for the next hour they were all occupied doing their best to look dignified, as befitted the heirs to thrones. None of them played a prominent role here, and they'd only been seated in the rows at the front because of their rank, not their duties. The Brits had sent Prince Edward as the official representative of the royal house, as usual for these foreign state occasions, and the Swedes too were represented by Madeleine in an official capacity rather than Carl, who tended to be the emergency compromise. And while Andrea and Tatiana _were_ the only representatives for Monaco, they ranked too low to be given any special consideration. A good thing it was, too; they got to sit with their friends, away from the seats of the official delegates in full view of the cameras. Even for a minor wedding like this one there was attention; this was about a grandson of the King of Belgium and the daughter of the Grand Duke of Luxembourg, after all, so it could be considered important enough to warrant a news report or two. 

With a sigh, Andrea tried to find a more comfortable position. Whoever had designed church pews had clearly been an absolute sadist. There was no way to sit properly on these things without getting cramps almost immediately.

"Everything all right?" Tatiana murmured after a minute.

Andrea covered her hand with his. "Just thinking that we've got better seats in Monaco's cathedral," he whispered back and received a chuckle in reply. "Next time I'm bringing cushions."

"Poor Andrea," she said, and his hand tightened at the tone, so full of promise and affection. If they hadn't been in church and in the middle of mass, he'd have kissed her, but even for a Grimaldi that would have been a bit much. Later, he told himself, there'd be opportunities to catch up. 

Their group got split up during the formal dinner; Andrea ended up with Tatiana opposite from him, half hidden behind a chandelier and a flower arrangement. To his right sat Mette-Marit, and whoever had placed Her Royal Highness the Crown Princess of Denmark to his left definitely hated him. Mary had taken one look at him, given a delicate sniff and promptly proceeded to ignore him. That she had one of the crazier Savoys to her other side wasn't helping, and as far as Andrea could tell, she'd spent the last two courses in a petulant sulk.

"Is Stefano back to his normal hair colour yet?" Mette-Marit asked while they were waiting for the next congratulatory speech to begin. 

Andrea grimaced. "He's gone from emerald green to something like olive," he said. "But he's screaming now whenever he sees the shampoo bottle, so I think we're out of luck."

Mette-Marit chuckled. "The pictures looked spectacular. Was it really just finger paint?"

"Yes, and supposedly edible stuff, too." Andrea shrugged. "We know now why there was nothing on how it's easily washed out of hair and clothes." He and Tatiana were still debating whether to wait for it to eventually fade, or give Stefano a buzz cut. Pierre, on the other hand, had pragmatically suggested to simply add a few more colours and call it a new fashion trend. He'd even offered to match his nephew in the dye department, and Andrea had been so very tempted to agree just for that image until Tatiana had put her foot down.

"You know better now," Mette-Marit said, still grinning. "Just wait another ten years and he'll try to do the dyeing on purpose."

Andrea pretended to swoon in his chair, dramatic enough to earn himself a quick glance from Mary. "We'll deal with it if it comes up," he said. "The big benefit of being Grimaldis in training - whatever they come up with can't be so weird that it can't be excused as a family peculiarity."

Mette-Marit elegantly hid her snort of laughter behind her wine glass. "That's one way of looking at it. You've got a real advantage there, you know? When Ingrid tried purple highlights, it was a scandal."

"As it should be," Andrea drawled, "when purple really isn't her colour. Blue suits her much better."

The next speech began at that point - Amedeo's this time, as his brother's best man. They all hadn't seen much of their Luxembourgian friends today, with both of them occupied making sure that their siblings ended up safely and properly married. 

There was more at stake here for Amedeo than for Guillaume. The succession in Luxembourg had long been taken care of already, with Felix and Anna proud parents of three by now. But on the Austria-Este side, with their insistence on pure agnatic primogeniture, Joachim was the one it all hinged on, even if it was just a titular position with no actual power attached. Andrea couldn't remember ever hearing Amedeo say anything about it all, but he had no doubt that his friend would sleep more easily tonight. Birthright, birthduty... when there were very definite expectations from everyone that you produced the next generation, it wasn't a simple decision to go against something that had been a dynastic matter of course for centuries. But with some luck, Joachim and Alexandra would soon start having little archduchesses and archdukes and provide future generations of royals with Habsburg insanity.

"So who's next?" Theodora asked when she managed to flag Andrea down once the formal part of the celebrations was over and the party had spilled into the reception rooms of the palace at Laeken. 

Andrea shot her a cautious look. "Next for what?"

She poked his shoulder in reprimand. "Next for marriage, what else? I'm running out of gossip here, it's as if there's nothing properly juicy happening yet with the next generation. The kids are only just starting to figure out how dating works."

"Perhaps nobody tells you about it?" he suggested, grinning at her expression of sheer horror. "But don't worry, I think there really isn't much going on right now."

"Everybody's turned so respectable," she complained. "And the next generation isn't old enough yet to do anything really dramatic."

Andrea remembered a few things he'd heard about the little Princesses Ingrid of Norway and Ariadne of the Netherlands, but if Theodora hadn't come across those yet, then he wasn't going to point her in that direction. Teenage princesses really shouldn't have to deal with Aunt Theodora in an inquisitive mood - they'd either die of embarrassment or, even worse, start to copy her. 

"There's always one option left," he said, smirking at her instantly curious expression. "You, my dear. We're all waiting, you do know that, right?"

The look on her face instantly changed from playful to downright dangerous. "Oh, no, you don't get to speculate about me, Monsieur Casiraghi. Forget about that right now."

He gave her his best interpretation of a puppy look. "But you and your boy toy are so much fun to wonder about."

"There's nothing to wonder!"

Andrea winked at her. "Exactly what we're all wondering about. You really aren't planning anything? Your mother would be so proud of you." 

Theodora produced what sounded like a growl, and he took a prudent step backwards, still smirking. 

"You can always elope. If you want to, we'll throw you a party in Monaco so you can be properly rebellious and risque."

Theodora rolled her eyes. "And here we thought you'd turned all grown-up and sensible lately," she muttered, then waved at him in clear command. "Go and be a gentleman, get me another glass of wine. The Syrah, not that nasty Chardonnay."

He bowed to her. "Your wish is my command, of course," he told her, laughing. "Stay here, I'll be right back."

On the way to the bar he ran into Wills and Carl, who'd retreated into a less crowded corner with their drinks and a shared plate of wedding cake. The relative lack of food was always a disadvantage at royal festivities: there seemed to be either a shortage of actually edible things on plates covered in decorative matter, or the food was so artsy that it simply tasted horrible. Andrea and Tatiana had ended up desperately waiting for room service after more than one party, and while they'd been careful to go against that trend at their own wedding, it still happened far too often. Tonight at least there was very good Belgian chocolate cake, which made up for the weirdness of some of the earlier culinary offerings.

"There you are!" Carl greeted him. "We thought you'd disappeared somewhere."

Andrea claimed a swift kiss on the cheek in greeting, which had been impossible in the cathedral earlier. "As if Mette-Marit would have let me vanish," he said, moving on to collect a peck and a quick hug from Wills as well. "She's far too determined that her escort mustn't miss any of the fun."

"Comes from constantly having Guillaume dangling from her arm," Wills said. "You can rely on her to keep him in line and occupied."

True, Andrea thought as he recalled the past few royal get-togethers. Whatever it was that made Mette-Marit and Guillaume get along so spectacularly well, it didn't show any signs of wearing off. A good thing, too - their Hereditary Grand Duke was rarely as relaxed as when he was allowed to sashay down a red carpet together with the Norwegian Crown Princess. Perhaps they should ask to have her on a permanent loan basis.

"Haakon might have something to say about that," Carl said when he suggested it. "And the rest of the Norwegians, too. But perhaps we can negotiate a time share, she makes Guillaume so much more tractable."

Wills nodded in agreement. "Even though he's behaving himself these days. Didn't you say you talked to him? Whatever you did had a much better effort than all my growling. What did you do, threaten to toss his cell phone into the harbour?"

Andrea quirked an eyebrow. "As if he wouldn't simply get the backup phone out. No, I simply shoved him against the wall and shouted at him until he agreed to be reasonable."

Carl and Wills both stared at him.

He shrugged. "It worked, what can I say? You've been much too nice to him, it takes some serious threats to make him cooperate."

"Dare I ask what you threatened him with?" Carl asked, his tone hovering between respect and amusement. 

"That, my friend, is going to stay a secret between him and me," Andrea drawled. "I've got to keep some tricks up my sleeve." And besides he wasn't all that certain what it had been to make Guillaume finally sit up and take notice that he was being stupid. Perhaps it had been the surprise of having Andrea lose his temper at him for the first time in two decades. Whatever it was, Andrea wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Guillaume was being sensible, that was all that mattered. 

"Speaking of which... " Wills nodded his head in the direction of the corner by the windows, where their Hereditary Grand Duke and his pet archduke had retreated to, presumably to catch their breaths for a minute before they went back to be proper brothers of the bride and groom again. But if they'd hoped for a break, they weren't getting it, not with Amedeo's mother headed for them, determination in her every step.

"Should we run interference?" Andrea asked. Amedeo had said that his mother had gotten to a point where she was civil around him and Guillaume, but he'd never mentioned anything about her being happy about it, which to Andrea's mind spoke volumes. She might not be as bad as the Prince of Wales, but there was a wide range of attitudes between aggressive disapproval and cheerful acceptance of her son's choices in life.

Carl hummed wordlessly and put down his glass on the windowsill, but made no move just yet. "Depends," he murmured. "Let's hope we won't have to."

Sighing in agreement, Wills drew him close to tuck him against his side. Andrea gave them both a knowing look, but didn't say anything as they watched their friends, ready to stage a rescue if they had to.

Their caution turned out to be unnecessary, however. Princess Astrid, Amedeo and Guillaume spoke for a few minutes, looking not exactly cheerful but also not as if they were about to descend into an argument. Mostly they seemed to be cautious around each other, if Guillaume's polite expression and Amedeo's unusually restrained gesturing and tense body language were any indication. 

It all shifted within seconds; Astrid said something that made her son stare at her in wide-eyed amazement, and kissed first his and then Guillaume's cheek. For a moment both looked entirely confused, until Amedeo seemed to forget about being imperial, royal and decorous long enough to draw her into a tight hug. 

"Any guesses?" Andrea asked a minute later, when Astrid had left again and Guillaume and Amedeo were deep in a hushed discussion, still looking somewhat stunned. 

"Someone figured out that she'd better make up for the way she acted the first time one of her children married one of the Luxembourgians?" Wills suggested, a hint of something that might have been jealousy in his voice. 

Hearing it too, Carl leaned closer, catching one of his husband's hands in his own. "We'll get there," he murmured.

"When?" Wills demanded to know. "When he's finally King and too busy to care what we do? It's not going to happen, Carl, you know that. Right now Gran is still here to mediate, but once he's on the throne it's not going to get any better."

Carl sighed. "Then let him act that way," he said, firmly looking Wills in the eye. "You know there's nothing to the suggestions he makes, and I know it too. What can happen? If he makes the press get it into their collective head again that we're divorcing, we know now how to handle that."

Wills appeared slightly mollified. "You'll do another press conference with me?"

"If I absolutely have to," Carl said. "Next time, promise me we won't try to answer the idiotic questions first, though."

"Nah, we'll go straight to kissing, that should do it," Wills agreed, the hint of a smile curling the corner of his mouth, and Andrea figured that he didn't have any reason to worry about his friends.

***  
 _November 2020_  
***

It all went haywire on National Day. 

The celebration wasn't anything remarkable. The assembled Princely Family of Monaco went to mass, as always, then observed the parade of Monaco's minuscule armed forces, watched as Albert distributed medals of commendation and honour to military personnel and civilians, and finally went up to the main floor of the Palace's front section to wave at the crowd from the balconies. 

Andrea was in the middle of working out how to carry Louise and wave at the same time when Pierre stepped up beside him, holding out his arms in an offer to take his niece. Handing her over with a murmur of thanks, Andrea raised his hand to greet the crowd, who'd not turned out in large numbers this year. The Monegasques were making their opinion and their preferences known, and it pushed them all onto dangerous terrain. 

"We've got a problem," Pierre said quietly. 

Andrea shot him an alarmed look, but kept on his smile for the people. "Problem?"

"Uncle Albert went and let himself be bribed," his brother explained, pausing to coo at Louise when she began to fuss. A satisfied snuffle could be heard in response, then she settled down again. Andrea, who'd been kept awake for what felt like months now, couldn't help but feel jealous.

"It's not the first time," he said, remembering more than a handful of similar situations. "Tell me he didn't get the International Olympic Committee involved again."

Pierre shook his head. "No, he's done it with the construction people this time, and he's made a mess of it."

Andrea suppressed a sigh. "Define mess," he said, not liking Pierre's serious tone at all. 

"He made promises about the contracts for his skyscraper project," Pierre said grimly. "And received gifts in turn. But since there actually is no skyscraper project anymore..."

"Those people are up in arms," Andrea finished for him and sighed for real now. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charlotte standing a few steps behind them, guarding against interruptions. They were being photographed, but Andrea didn't care whether anyone caught them looking displeased, not when Aunt Stephanie had looked thunderous all day. There'd be speculative headlines, but he could deal with those. "So let them be cranky, it's not like they can sue him for not delivering after they bribed him."

"Oh, I'd let them be if he hadn't tried to string them along and given them actual contracts."

Andrea could only stare. "He _what_?"

"Gave them contracts for a construction project that won't ever be built because even the council members who're normally on his side are smart enough to see that it would be insane." Pierre cooed at Louise again, then shifted her almost effortlessly and freed up one of his arms to wave when the brass band playing down in the square paused briefly before they launched into the next piece.

"So we're doomed. If they've got actual contracts, they can sue, and he'll protest and it won't be long until they all know what's going on." Andrea fought the urge to bury his face in his hands; only the fact that he was in full sight of a few thousand people kept him from it. "Damn it, why couldn't he just leave it alone?"

Pierre shrugged. "Go over and ask him," he said with a nod of his head in the direction of the other balcony, where Albert and his wife were standing. "I wouldn't count on him having any answers, though. However he thought he could get away with this..."

It couldn't have been for the money, Andrea knew that even his uncle wasn't foolish enough for that and there really was no shortage in the family fortune to make such moves necessary. No, far more likely it had been that bloody desire to show himself as the great entrepreneur and benevolent patriarch who could hand out favours at will and who expected adoration and gifts in recognition of that fact. 

"Do you have any idea yet what we can do?" he asked. 

His brother looked down at the square and took some time before he answered. "Here, take her back, the press is going to want more pictures of the two of you," he said, carefully holding Louise out to Andrea again. "We can't break the contracts but we can't honour them either. If they want to force it, Albert's going to wake up one day soon to the headlines that he's caught in the greatest scandal of Monaco's history in the last few centuries. And that's saying something."

"Can we buy them off?" Andrea asked bluntly, adjusting his hold on Louise so she was safely cradled. This was what he wanted to focus on, his little girl in his arms on National Day, and not the chaos Albert had caused.

"Probably, if we offer them something in return. Le Portier would be ideal for that, actually." Shaking his head, Pierre narrowed his eyes. "The problem is more that I'm not sure they'll take it quietly. If they want to teach him a lesson, it's going to get messy."

***

Pierre's words proved to be prophetic when Albert called a family council that afternoon. They all assembled in the conference room adjunct to Albert's office, grim looks on their faces. Andrea's mother was filling in Aunt Stephanie, who was visibly furious at getting dragged into this mess. She'd never been interested in the affairs of state and stayed away from meddling, which really was the smartest course for her to take. To be forced to sit in on all of this now had to be more than irritating, and her children did not look too pleased either. 

"It's getting worse," Tatiana said when she came in with Alexandra and took her seat by Andrea's side, a stack of folders in her arms. 

"Of course it is." Sighing, he kissed her temple before leaning back in his chair. "Everything all right with the peanuts?"

"Yes, but you're in great demand. Tomorrow is your turn to tuck them in, Stefano was vocal about that."

Andrea ducked his head. "I will, I promise," he said quietly, even though he wasn't certain he'd be able to keep his word. But it mattered that he at least tried, and he knew he was lucky that Tatiana was going along with it. She'd have preferred life without political complications, and this was probably turning into a greater mess than she'd bargained for. 

Tatiana reached up to pet the nape of his neck, her hand lingering in a reassuring touch for a few seconds. "Not to make things worse, but I just had a phone call from L'Express. They've been offered a scoop on this whole affair, and that newspaper isn't the only one. Right now they're holding back, but if nothing happens then this is going to be on the front pages the day after tomorrow."

With a groan, Andrea dropped his head onto his folded arms on the table. "This had to happen," he muttered, then took a deep breath and straightened up again. "What did you say to them?"

"That we're dealing with it and that we owe them a favour for giving us a heads up. There was no point in denying, one of Albert's special friends must have tipped them off." Tatiana surveyed the others seated around the table before leaning close to Andrea. "This is going to get ugly," she murmured.

He bit back an almost hysterical laugh. "Perhaps we can just ignore it and pretend it was all the plan from the start."

"Somehow I doubt anyone would believe that," Tatiana said, her hand finding his on the table and holding on tight when Albert finally graced them with his presence. 

It all went very quickly from that point on. Albert didn't even sit down, he merely looked at them all, skipping swiftly over Andrea's mother and Pierre, then said, "I've decided that after a life of service to Monaco, it's my right to step down as Prince. I've worked very hard for a very long time, and I cannot be expected to do this forever when I've already gone far beyond the call of duty."

They all stared at him. 

"I'm going to announce it in my Christmas speech. The Monegasques will be sad, but they cannot force me to devote my entire life to the country."

"They'll be devastated," Andrea's mother said dryly, her poker face almost perfect. She couldn't have known of this, but she was playing it as if she'd been aware of it all along."Have you already packed, or are you going to do a proper hand-over?"

Albert gave her an angry glare at spoiling his dramatic announcement like that. "There will be a proper transition period, but it will not be too long. I cannot be expected to serve forever."

Next to Andrea, Tatiana took a deep, slow breath, and when he glanced at her, he saw her roll her eyes in exasperation. There was tension to her posture that hadn't been there before; she knew as well as Andrea did what this meant. They could probably consider themselves lucky that Albert hadn't fled the country; there was little doubt that they wouldn't get to see much of him from now on. If this was his reaction to the brewing storm, then he'd do his best to get away before anyone could lay the blame officially at his feet. 

No, he'd let the next ruler of Monaco deal with it all, and Andrea knew only too well who that was going to be.

***

For the duration of the gala dinner that evening, Andrea forced himself to keep a cheerful smile plastered on his face, hard enough that his cheeks were aching by the end of it. Around him, everybody was pretending that nothing had happened, though only an idiot would have failed to notice the atmosphere tense enough to cut with a knife.

It was well past midnight before he and Tatiana had an opportunity to escape, but it didn't matter much. They both were far too wired to sleep; what they needed was the chance to talk in peace and quiet, without anyone to overhear. The brief car trip from the Palais Princier to their apartment was spent in silence, mindful of their driver who hopefully didn't know yet that changes were afoot. Nobody outside the family was supposed to know just yet, and Albert had promised that he wouldn't speak to the staff or his flunkies before the official announcement. Whether he'd stick with that was anyone's guess, but Andrea wasn't about to do anything to risk a revelation himself. If that meant not discussing anything sensitive within palace walls, then so be it and they'd simply have to start bringing the equipment for bug sweeps from now on. He and Tatiana had gotten into the habit of dusting their kitchen for bugs years ago, ever since Carl and Wills had pointed out the possibility and provided scanners courtesy of MI5. 

That night, too, they sat at their kitchen's informal dining table, two glasses and a bottle of whiskey between them. Andrea had grown careful around alcohol over the years, but some situations simply called for it. Tonight of all times he desperately needed something to blur the edges and keep himself from shaking with nerves.

"Let's run away," he said, only half joking. "I hear Uruguay is nice at this time of the year."

Tatiana shot him a wry smile. "If you really want to, let's wake the peanuts and go."

He blinked. "You would?"

"Of course I would. Why not? But we'll need to be quick, before Pierre catches on and confiscates our passports."

For a moment, just a moment, he was seriously tempted. "You'd let me run? Miss the chance to become a princess?"

The look this earned him clearly said that she thought he talking nonsense, but that she'd be kind and not say it straight ahead. "As if I married you because you'd become a prince one day. If anything, I married you despite that."

Too true, he knew; it was what had put their relationship on a solid foundation from the start. They both were financially entirely independent - with his own wealth far surpassed by that of Tatiana's family - so there had never been concerns for either of them that they were being victims of gold diggers. And Tatiana had rubbed elbows with enough of Europe's blue bloods that she knew they weren't the best option.

"No interest in wearing a tiara?" he couldn't help asking.

"If I were, I'd have gone for someone like Guillaume, theirs are far more impressive than the Grimaldi selection," Tatiana said, all matter-of-fact as she uncapped the Laphroaig and poured them both generous shots. "He'd have been far easier to get than you, too. So, are we running?"

He picked up his glass, but didn't drink. "Will you hate me if we don't?"

She studied him, long enough to make him feel nervous about her answer. "You don't really think I would, do you?"

Sighing, he dropped his gaze and fixed his eyes on the table. "No, but-"

"Good, because that would have been the stupidest thing you ever said. I've known from the start that this might happen. And surely you've seen it coming too, for the last years it's been more than obvious that we'd end up at this point sooner or later. I wouldn't have minded at all if it had taken another ten years, but it's been unavoidable for a long time now. If I weren't up for it, I'd have said so already."

Andrea did have a drink at that, partly because he really needed it, partly to buy himself a second and marshal his thoughts. "I know. And I knew it was coming, but I just... tried not to see it, I guess. Damn it, why couldn't he wait just a little longer?"

"Because then the mess would be even greater. Be glad it's now, we at least know what's coming." 

It sounded very pragmatic when Tatiana put it like that, but he still couldn't shake the complete and utter terror he felt whenever he thought too hard about the task ahead. He could play the role everybody expected of him, he knew that, but what he wasn't sure was whether all the luck and effort in the world would be enough for it. There was a reason why countries were no longer run by absolute monarchies: their world was far too complex for one person to keep an eye on everything, and Monaco with all her idiosyncracies was more complicated than most. 

Not for the first time, he desperately wanted to know how the heirs apparent, like Wills and Guillaume, had dealt with that knowledge for all their lives that they'd be put in charge of what was essentially an impossible task without going crazy. 

"If I knew what's coming, I'd feel less nervous about it," he murmured. "We're going to dig skeletons out of closets for years. Decades, even." 

"So we'll give them a proper burial." Tatiana watched as he emptied his tumbler, then refilled it without comment. "Andrea, do you want to do this or not? Because if you aren't certain, then we're going to put an end to it before anyone can make official announcements."

He couldn't stay seated any longer; pushing his chair back, he got up and went to the fridge to pour himself a glass of water. "I don't have a choice, do I?" he asked with a humourless laugh. "What if I don't? What if we up and leave for Rio, or New York or wherever? It's going to put Pierre and Mama into an impossible position. They'd kill me if I did that. And rightly so."

Tatiana's gaze followed him as he went to the sink to empty the glass after just a sip. "That isn't what I asked," she said calmly. "Do you _want_ to do this?"

Pacing didn't do much to dispel the nervous energy he felt, but it was impossible to stop right now. "It's not the question that matters."

"Yes, it is," she insisted. "If you want it, we'll do it. If you don't, we don't. It's as simple as that. Forget about expectations for a moment and tell me."

It wasn't hard to see what she was talking about, but he knew that it didn't matter. What he didn't know, however, was how to make her see that walking away wasn't an option.

Andrea hadn't been raised to be the heir to anything. There'd been no point in that; for most of his childhood, there had been the certainty that Albert would marry at some point and produce his own heirs. Theoretically Andrea had always been third in line, but for a long time it hadn't mattered. If he hadn't wanted to do the job, that would have been the point to make it clear. Not now, years later, when far too many people relied on him to keep his end of the bargain. It wasn't just about his mother and about Pierre, though they were the ones with the biggest stake in it. No, it was about house owners down in La Condamine and local businesses in need of an increase in tourism and everyone waiting for an economic turnaround. There was a whole country, albeit a tiny one - who'd staked its future on him. And as frightening as that was, he knew he couldn't run.

Tatiana didn't see it. She understood it intellectually, he had no doubt about that, but there was a difference between her perspective and his. She'd not grown up with tales of ancestors who'd fought literally to the death to preserve their realm. Monaco was a Grimaldi responsibility, had been one for eight hundred years. He couldn't be the one to put an end to that, not while there still was even the hint of a fighting chance. 

"We'll do it," he said, coming to a halt by her side. "I've got no idea how, but we'll do it."

***

The next morning, after a few desperate hours of sleep, things looked a lot more focused. They also looked a lot more frightening, and Andrea spent the day in mortified panic at the realisation that it would be a lot less than a year until his stint as Prince of Monaco began. There were far too many things to prepare still; they hadn't had time to get the Conseil National elections underway, they didn't know for sure how many people on the lower administrative levels needed to be replaced, how many counsellors they could really rely on to be loyal. Andrea had seen the lists his mother kept of names to be cautious about, and they were far too long for comfort. Half the government had to go, and all their followers and helpers in the administration along with them if they wanted to stand a chance to weed out at least a part of the inefficiency and downright corruption which was plaguing Monaco right now. 

Somehow nobody could explain to him how he was supposed to run a country with half its personnel gone at the point when he took over. It wasn't a terribly reassuring thought. 

The more time he had to dwell on it, the more doubts crept in. Andrea knew well enough how many problems there were, but when he looked at all of them together, he had no idea how to go about it. Fleeing the country suddenly was enormously tempting. 

Tatiana didn't fail to notice, but neither did she push again. She merely smiled at him reassuringly when she caught him having a quiet breakdown in his office, allowed him to desperately hang on to her and murmured to him while he struggled to let go of the rising panic. Then she handed him a ticket for the afternoon flight to London, along with the command to go and talk to Wills, one heir to the other, about how to deal with it.

It helped, more than he'd have thought.

Wills knew the pressure Andrea was suddenly under, even though for him that same situation was still years, perhaps decades in the future. But he'd grown up with that same awareness of the responsibility resting upon him simply because he was who he was. It was an understanding even Carl didn't share with them; he might be part of a royal family by birth and of another by marriage, but he'd never in his life carried the burden of being the heir, not even when he'd still nominally been crown prince. Still, he'd been with Wills long enough by now to know what to do with an heir apparent overwhelmed with a situation.

Together they let him rant and rave, then got him calmed down again, filled him up with beer and, next morning, with headache pills, and shoved him on the noon flight back to Nice, where Pierre had kept a car on standby for him. Andrea decide to take it as a sign of fraternal concern and not a sign of fraternal distrust that he might try to run off. 

When he crossed the border into Monaco, he was torn between heading for the Palais Princier or for home. Duty won out in the end, though it was nothing but a perfunctory stop by his office to see whether anyone had dropped off important matters, broken in, or left some sort of surprise for him. Not that it could have happened, now that Pierre's hand-picked pair of assistants kept a close eye on it all. They didn't even look surprised to see him when he strolled through the door, and instead simply passed him a lists of missed calls, requests and other incidents worth mentioning, as if he'd been gone just five minutes.

Efficient, highly efficient. Andrea would have appreciated the two women even more than he already did if they didn't have that faint whiff of ex-secret service about them. Wherever Pierre had picked them up, it hadn't been at a normal personnel agency. On the whole, it seemed safest not to ask.

Tatiana was at home, and he heard her voice from her study the moment he walked through the door of their private apartment. Phone, he decided after a second, unless she'd taken to talking to herself in the past two days. And even if, she'd hopefully find more interesting topics of conversation than seating arrangements at the opera. 

Spotting him as he peered through the open door, she cast him a quick smile, raised her hand in a warning gesture, and growled, "I don't care if it's traditional, but you won't put them next to each other unless you want to turn the evening into an interactive murder mystery. Well, not that it would be much of a mystery."

Andrea blinked and cocked his head. 

Tatiana met his gaze, then rolled her eyes. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you." An exasperated huff, then she put down the phone, shook her head and muttered, "Bloody idiots."

"Do I need to put more people on lists?" Andrea asked, only half joking.

"Have you got one for people too blind to see an impending catastrophe even if it bites them in the arse?" Getting up from her seat in one fluid motion, Tatiana stalked towards him, and Andrea didn't dare move at the sight. A riled Tatiana was fun, but there also was an edge of danger to her in that sort of mood. 

"Not yet, but I'll draw one up for you if you want me to," he told her, sighing contentedly when she let herself be caught in an embrace for a kiss. "I missed you."

"You've been gone for barely a day, and you've been on a play date with the boys." She pecked the tip of his nose. "You shouldn't have had time to miss me. Did you have fun?"

Andrea hummed wordlessly. "Wills had a few things to say about the whole heir situation."

"Helpful things?" she asked, cupping his face in her hands, the touch cool and comforting.

"I'm not sure yet. Maybe not helpful in what he said as such, but that we're not the only ones in that sort of predicament. Now I get why the heirs tend to stick together like that. It's the only way to find someone who knows what you're talking about when you realise you've got twenty generations of ancestors watching you from the afterlife so you won't do anything wrong."

Tatiana chuckled. "With some of your ancestors, I don't think they've got much ground to stand on. You've got nothing to worry about, trust me on that."

He carefully rested his forehead against hers. "I couldn't do this without you," he told her quietly. 

She held his gaze. "Doubts?" she asked, and there was more to the question than just the obvious. "You haven't been shoved onto the throne yet. There's still time to change your mind."

With a slowly exhaled breath, he took a step backwards and reluctantly let go of her. "There isn't."

"There is, until the moment you let them crown you." A frown on her face, Tatiana folded her arms across her chest. "Andrea, be sure about this. If this isn't what you want, then put an end to it."

If only it were that simple. If only it were just about what he wanted. He shook his head. "I'm going to do this. I'm still not sure I really like it, but I'm going to do it."

Tatiana watched him, scrutiny plain in her eyes. "Be sure," she said again. "You aren't making that decision just for yourself."

"I know I'm asking a lot of you-"

She interrupted him with a wave of her hand. "I'm talking about Stefano and Louise. If you go through with this, you're putting them right into the line of succession with you. Once you do that, you can't back out anymore or you'll force one of them to take your place. So I'm asking again: are you sure about this?"

That very thought had given him plenty of sleepless nights already. His decision wasn't just about him, it was also about his children. Even if he didn't step down, one of them would have to succeed him thanks to Monaco's current succession laws. And if they didn't want to, it would mean the end of the principality.

No pressure.

But he'd make sure they had the preparation they needed, and that they wouldn't inherit the same sort of mess he'd rule in a few weeks. That was much more of an incentive for him to do well than anything else. He wanted to show the Monegasques and the world that Monaco mattered, that the Grimaldis hadn't forgotten about their responsibilities. 

He took a deep breath. "I'm sure about it all."

Tatiana studied him, until something she saw in his face made her nod decisively. "Then let's do it."

***  
 _December 2020_  
***

Albert announced his abdication in his Christmas speech - far sooner than Andrea felt comfortable with, but it gave them a definite turning point and finally cleared up the whole situation. There was no way back any longer, and while the task ahead was more than just frightening, it was easier to handle the awareness of it all when there was no escape anymore.

Andrea's mother still was the official heir apparent, and there hadn't been any formal alterations of the line of succession yet. Part of their plan; a renouncement from her right now was almost impossible thanks to the peculiarities of the constitution. She'd have to wait until Albert formally stepped down as Prince before she could refuse to succeed him and hand the reins on to Andrea. 

The people knew, of course. They'd done the math years ago and figured that Andrea would be their next ruler, with his mother a presence in the background, and they all seemed happy about it. His mother guaranteed continuity while he brought in new strength and new ideas, and altogether it was the sort of combination that had a lot of Monegasques try their best not to be too cheerful at the prospect of change. For now, Albert was convinced that his people were sad to see him go. Nobody wanted him to notice it wasn't the case and decide to stay until they changed their minds. 

"Has Albert worked out yet how he wants to handle the ceremony?" Tatiana asked him a few days after the announcement, Louise in her lap. They were having a cup of afternoon coffee in one of the small bistros down in Port Hercule, a habit they'd firmly established for the times they were in Monaco. 

Being seen was important, they both knew that. The Monegasques needed to feel that their next Prince was interested in the country, and that was most easily demonstrated by spending time in the streets of Monaco so everybody knew that he was here and that they could talk to him in an informal setting. Liechtenstein aside, he was in a unique position in this regard as a monarch with a country small enough to actually run it by knowing a good part of his subjects by name. Albert had never bothered with it, which was another thing Andrea intended to change. 

"Pomp and circumstance," Andrea said with a heartfelt groan. "We'll pull the whole shebang, the full coronation ceremony and before that a few hours to celebrate his grand achievements. Better don't make plans for that day."

She quirked an eyebrow. "A pity, I thought I might get some reading done in the morning."

"Bring it along, you'll probably want something to keep you from growing bored while he heaps praise on himself." Sipping his espresso, Andrea leaned back in his chair, legs stretched before him and crossed at the ankles. "Wills and Carl officially replied that they'll come."

"Good, more baby-sitters are always great to have." Adjusting Louise, Tatiana winked at him. "Someone needs to keep an eye on you when I can't."

"I should be offended," he drawled. "As if I'm likely to get into trouble on my own."

Tatiana looked as if she were struggling not to laugh, something he magnanimously overlooked. "You're right," she said with a great deal of earnestness. "You're much more likely to come up with mischief if they help you. I'll recruit Guillaume instead. Amedeo has promised they'll be there, too."

Which Andrea hadn't really doubted, though he'd tried not to think too hard about it. The succession in Monaco was not something high on the real royals' to-do list, they'd seen that clearly when Albert had been crowned Prince. Only Victoria and Guillaume had attended on that day, the other courts hadn't bothered to send even a junior member. Andrea had long worked out the reasons behind that snub, and he knew that with his friendships among the younger royals, it wasn't likely that he'd suffer the same fate.

Despite all that, it wasn't just a question of personal relations but also a political statement when another prince or princess attended, and if one of the reigning monarchs decided that it wasn't suitable, there was little they all could do about it. With every RSVP they received, he breathed a little more easily. Recognition by his peer group was one aspect of it, but he also felt a lot better at the thought of having people around who knew exactly what it was like to be in his position.

"You want to make me spend the day under Guillaume's supervision?" he asked. "What have I done to deserve that?"

She laughed. "Nothing yet, but I'm sure you'll come up with something."

They paused briefly as the bistro owner brought two cups of espresso. Holding these discussions in public was partly deliberate; Tatiana had suggested to let the people see that they both were comfortable to talk where someone might listen. But there was a fine line to walk between topics that could be overheard and those which needed to remain confidential, since gossip was guaranteed to spread like wildfire, now even more so than before. 

There'd be changes coming for all of them. A move back to Monaco for one thing; neither of them was willing to have a marriage consisting of just weekends or even less than that. The next few years were guaranteed to be insanely busy for Andrea, and constantly traveling between Monaco and Saint-Rémy wasn't going to be an option. It also meant meant raising the children here - not something they had planned on, considering all the complications and the risks involved with letting them grow up in this madhouse. But they were the next generation of Grimaldis, the next rulers of the principality unless Andrea made a real mess of it, so they needed to have links to the people from the beginning.

***  
 _February 2021_  
***

They missed all chances of meeting up with their royal friends for months. There simply was no chance to get away for more than a few hours, not when they both were swamped with preparatory work and had to handle all of it by themselves. Whether Albert was deliberately refusing to cooperate or was being obtuse once more was hard to tell, but the result was that Tatiana took over all of Andrea's duties which didn't absolutely require his physical attendance, while Andrea spent his days locked in his office with his mother, ironing out thousands of details and preparing for every eventuality. Just the stack of dismissals and new appointments necessary to clear the government of the worst of Albert's lackeys occupied a full drawer already, and there was more to come.

"I'm not sure we've got enough Monegasques to fill all the positions we need to tidy up," he told Guillaume that evening. Having a call from their Hereditary Grand Duke was unexpected at first, but Andrea wasn't about to question his motivations. He needed a sympathetic ear, and while Guillaume didn't make nearly as many soothing noises as he should have, he at least knew what Andrea was on about. 

"So keep a few of the old ones? There must be some who are opportunistic enough to follow you once you are in charge."

"But they aren't exactly the people I want to keep on," Andrea protested.

He could picture Guillaume's shrug. "No, but they'll do their best at first to impress you. Keep them, then kick them out once you've got alternatives. How is it all coming along?"

"You do not want to know how many lists we have by now. Things to do, things not to do, laws to repeal, laws to enact, people to replace, people to promote, demote, reassign... I need a new filing cabinet just for all the notes."

"So you're finally writing them for yourself?"

"Because you unfairly absented yourself," Andrea complained. "You really shouldn't make me fend for myself after letting me get used to mooching your notes."

There was a sound at the other end of the line that might have been a chuckle. "And why would I have notes on Monaco?"

"Oh please, as if you don't have them. You'd put every pathfinder to shame with your intention to always be prepared. On that topic, do you think I can borrow your Habsburg for a day or two?"

"What do you want with him?"

Andrea rolled his eyes at the immediately defensive tone. "Shag him senseless and then toss him into the dungeons, of course. What do you think?"

"With you, there's no way to be certain."

"What a vote of confidence," Andrea drawled. "If I want him for less nefarious purposes, do I get him?"

Guillaume sounded marginally less hostile when he repeated, "What for?"

"I need information on budgets, risk assessments and all that stuff. Normally I guess I'd go ask the secret service, but there aren't all that many around and they report to Albert. He's got them working full-time on hushing up whatever stupid affairs his so-called celebrity friends get up to."

"How very efficient," Guillaume said. "You need to develop alternate sources."

"Yes, yes, I know, but I don't have the time for that right now and Amedeo and his little consultant friends can help me out on that front. So can I have him?" He paused, then tried, "Please?"

"You do realise that I can't order him to do anything, right?"

Stating the obvious, but Andrea magnanimously didn't point that out. Let Guillaume have the calming illusion that Amedeo at least occasionally listened to him and obeyed. "You've got better means of persuasion than I do."

"And why would I persuade him?"

"Now you're just being difficult," Andrea accused him. 

"You're about to take on running a country, deal with it. I want a favour from you, to call in whenever I need it." Guillaume paused. "Political, before you get ideas."

Andrea hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether to agree to that. But the truth was that with two decades of experience at the diplomatic game, Guillaume could probably con him into agreeing to pretty much anything without him noticing until well after the fact. Actually asking for a favour outright amounted to a sizable advance warning Andrea didn't think he'd usually get.

"Agreed. Do you want me to sign in my own blood, too?"

"Your agreement is quite enough." He really didn't have to sound that smug about it. "I'll talk to him. You do realise that you could simply ask him yourself, don't you?"

Andrea shrugged. "Sure, but it's more fun this way."

There was incomprehensible muttering at the other end of the line at that, followed by, "It's a good thing Paps will have to deal with you once you're officially Prince."

"As if that's going to be such a long break. He'll step down in what, five years?" And was surely doing a far better job at preparing his successor than Albert was doing. 

Guillaume sounded almost as if he were sighing. "William told you that?"

"Of course he did," Andrea cheerfully agreed. 

Another sigh. "Why do I bother with all of you?"

Andrea fluttered his eyelashes, then remembered that Guillaume couldn't actually see him. "Because deep down you're fond of us and you'd miss us if we weren't around?"

"Very deep down," Guillaume agreed dryly. "Very deep."

***

Two days later, their pet archduke arrived in Monaco to personally deliver the requested information, the only way to be sure that nobody would notice what they had been up to. Andrea didn't think anyone could accuse him for treason for researching his own principality, but better safe than sorry. He wasn't sure they'd yet gotten rid of the creative ways of dealing with traitors which some of his more colourful ancestors had devised.

"Are you quite sure you want to do this?" Amedeo asked once they'd swept Andrea's office for bugs and settled down at the small conference table in the corner, papers spread out before them. There were more red figures visible than Andrea liked to see.

"Don't you start," Andrea grumbled. "I got enough of that from Tatiana."

"I always knew she is a smart woman." Amedeo leafed through the stack of print-outs before him, then passed an alarmingly downwards-pointing graph to Andrea. "This is your predicted national income in the next five years. You're sure you don't want to run?"

Andrea shook his head. "No. Not that I expect you to understand."

Amedeo quirked an eyebrow at the faintly hostile tone. "I only deserted once it was clear Philippe would have his own brood of kids," he said amicably. "And I came back."

"Love conquers all? Though I imagine Guillaume has his own means of persuasion."

The comment earned him a wink. "None I'm going to discuss with you. Which reminds me, I'm supposed to tell you that he's not overdoing it and that he's being very conscientious about taking appropriate breaks so you don't need to repeat your... debate, I think he called it."

Andrea shot him a smug look. "Is it true?"

"That he's been taking it easier since you talked to him? Yes." Toying with the pen in his hand, Amedeo looked briefly confused. "Whatever did you do to him?"

"I shoved him against a wall and shouted at him. Seems to have done the trick." Picking up one of the sheets of papers Amedeo had spread out on the table, Andrea tried to make sense of the numbers. They seemed offensively big to him. "This isn't revenue, right?"

Amedeo leaned over to see what he was looking at, then grimaced. "You wish. That's what Keyla estimates you could be earning if you ran this place properly." 

Andrea frowned at the name of Amedeo's former girlfriend. "Keyla? Guillaume lets you talk to her?"

"Like I'd need his permission for that," Amedeo said dismissively. "But he knows he's got nothing to worry about, and he finally got it into his head that there's no point in being jealous over someone I dated years before he and I got together." He shuffled through yet another stack, still in a manila folder labelled with nothing but three large, lopsided exclamation marks. "These are your income streams."

The figures looked significantly smaller. "You're sure?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"So how do I get them to look better?"

Amedeo pointedly looked at the figures, then at the ornate clock on the wall by the drinks cabinet. "How much time have you got?"

They spent the day closeted with the files, facts and figures. Pierre joined them after a while, once Amedeo had brought Andrea up to speed with the worst news, and together they went over the main issues and the suggestions drawn up by their pet archduke's consultant minions. The overall message seemed to be to stop being stupid and hunker down to get some proper work done; a lot of the projects of the last decade had bombed and turned into sinkholes devouring money at alarming rates. At the same time, the older investments still looked solid, and were what kept the whole state afloat right now. 

"It's a good thing you had sensible ancestors," Amedeo observed, "or you'd be in much worse trouble now."

"Sensible isn't how I'd describe them," Andrea said. "It's really that bad?"

Amedeo and Pierre exchanged a quick look he absolutely didn't like, and Amedeo started to quickly type something on his notebook. 

"Uncle Albert has not had the best ideas about investments," Pierre said. "He's amazingly untalented where that is concerned, actually. Normally you'd expect at least a few good decisions, simply because of statistic probability."

"It takes effort to be that bad at the game," Amedeo agreed and pushed the notebook towards Andrea. The downward-sloping revenue curve he knew by now looked even worse, and disappeared off the bottom of the screen at the marker for the year 2025. "That's what the official state finances would look like if you took only Albert's activities into account. You'd be bankrupt in less than a decade, and that's if you're lucky. Another economic crisis and you'll be wiped off the map and bought wholesale by a Russian billionaire within two years. Hell, if Guillaume and I pool our resources we could probably take you over as white knights in that case."

Pierre frowned at him. "You're not supposed to think about buying us," he said. 

"It would be fun to see if Guillaume would agree to give me the money." A few swift clicks and Amedeo made the offensive graph vanish again. "But I'll stick with Luxembourg, that one's enough for me. No need to start looking for risque investments elsewhere."

Not entirely sure what to make of that statement, Andrea folded his arms across his chest. "So... bad?"

"Bad," Pierre agreed. "We'll make it, but only just. I've left Mama with a few lists on economic measures you'll need to take as soon as you can."

More lists. Andrea suppressed a sigh. As it stood, he'd spend his first years as Prince checking ticky boxes on to-do lists. It was just good they kept all the notes in his mother's office so he didn't have to see them all the time, or it would have simply been unnerving. Knowing that she had drawers full of the dreaded things was bad enough already.

"How does the hand-over work in terms of assets?" Amedeo wanted to know. "Keyla couldn't figure that one out."

Pierre cocked his head. "Good to know that at least a few secrets still hold up against you evil consultants. You're not going to pass this on to her, right?"

"Just because she's my ex doesn't mean I gossip with her on a regular basis. For one thing she's really got other things on her mind most of the time. Besides, simply mentioning her is usually enough to make sure Guillaume will be at home and make every effort to distract me from doing so. But you could do worse than keep her on for your analysis work, she and I used to be on the team who did your audits."

It still felt weirdly incestuous to Andrea in some way. He knew that Amedeo hadn't planned on coming back as an active member of the royal circle, but it was odd to have him know all those details about the supposedly confidential inner workings of Monaco. It was a good thing their pet archduke had his own grand duchy to play with, and that he could be trusted to keep these matters secret. 

"Had fun today?" Tatiana asked him late that night when they lay curled up in bed together, enjoying the rare moment when both peanuts were asleep, giving their parents a chance at privacy.

Andrea slowly exhaled. "I should have remembered why it's a bad idea to let Pierre and Amedeo play together. They're both eccentric enough already when they're on their own, but in combination..."

Laughing softly, Tatiana poked his shoulder to make him roll over so she could nestle against him, one leg tantalisingly tangling with his. "Was it that horrible?"

"They spent an hour talking about cash flows and returns on assets and all sorts of ratios. I understood perhaps one word in ten of what they were babbling about." Carefully rising up, he drew her close enough for a quick kiss. It was rare enough that they got some quiet time together these days, when the whole world around them had gone insane. But with both of them here for now and in no hurry to deal with their next duties, Andrea intended to savour the opportunity to simply lie together with the woman he loved, feel her close and know that she was still here with him. "How was your day?"

"Interesting," Tatiana said, resting her folded hands on his shoulder and her chin atop them. "I got you another member of the Conseil National, but only if you and I attend her wedding next week."

Andrea pulled a face at the thought of a stifling, formal affair among a crowd of Monaco's politicians. It was bad enough he needed to deal with them during his official duties, but to spend his private time with them...

Laughing at his expression, Tatiana tapped her fingers against his collarbone in swift staccato. "You'll like this one. Her future wife is a rally pilot, there's no risk the guests will be boring."

"Point taken. She isn't on the list of people to replace, right?" They'd performed a bug sweep earlier to make sure their bedroom was safe to talk. Andrea was starting to think of the whole procedure as a form of foreplay. 

"No, you get to keep her," Tatiana assured him, still grinning. "She's far too competent to lose, never mind entertaining, too. And very willing to support you ever since Albert smacked her bottom during a photo op."

You had to leave it to the man, he was incredibly good at making people dislike him. And not just a mild aversion, but deep, thorough aversion that had to be alleviated by sticking a dagger in his back. Or, in the case of some women who'd had the misfortune of having to deal with him, sticking it someplace else entirely.

"Just for that I may have to see whether any of our gay royal subset are willing to come along as well," Andrea mused. 

Tatiana raised her head so she could comfortably meet his eyes. "Won't that be too political?" 

He sighed. "Probably. Perhaps I'll just introduce them if the opportunity presents itself." Tatiana was right, their friends wouldn't appreciate getting dragged into Monaco's internal affairs. Even if they didn't mind on a personal basis - and Andrea didn't think any of them would have problems attending such a wedding - it never was an entirely private activity for them. Whatever they did, it sent a statement on the official level, and they all had to be careful about that lest the press got creative again in their interpretations.

Reaching out, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, her palm brushing against his cheek at the gesture. "That might be the better choice," she agreed. "Private and public life, remember?"

He nodded, turning his head so he could kiss the inside of her wrist. "I do," he said. "So which part are we in, right now?"

Tatiana raised an eyebrow and brought up her thigh high enough to get Andrea immediately interested in that move. "You have to ask?"

He took in the glint in her eyes, the subtle shift that brought her tightly against him. "Not really," he drawled, and focused on private matters for now.

***  
 _March 2021_  
***

His investiture as Prince of Monaco was the most nerve-wrecking moment in Andrea's entire life, worse than his wedding and all exams and his first few public speeches combined. 

All that saved him was that the entire day had been orchestrated in minute detail, or he'd have been lost before they'd even have started. There were so many small matters to pay attention to, so many ceremonial gestures to make and far too few chances at catching his breath and regain a sense for where he was and what he was supposed to do next. 

It didn't help that Monaco had never done this before. At least not during the last few generations - there was no point in looking at the way succession had been handled back in the day, when it had been something of a family pastime to occasionally accelerate matters. But this time the living Prince was abdicating and the next in line was refusing to move up and take charge. Until the evening before, Andrea had still harboured a small spark of hope that his mother would change her mind and take the throne. But this morning she'd signed the documents to renounce her position in the line of succession - carefully worded to only remove herself and not impair the right of her children to inherit - and thus the last person standing between Andrea and the throne was gone. 

Albert's abdication was one of the stranger parts of the day. His uncle hadn't been able to make up his mind on whether he wanted a sad and somber ceremony to show that the Monegasques lost their beloved prince, or a cheerful celebration now that he was finally free of all those irritating demands on his time. The end result was a disjointed function just before noon, entirely lacking in coherence and structure. A rather apt representation of Albert's reign, Andrea felt, but he had little time for such cynical thoughts. 

"Let's hope we'll get through this without a scene," Tatiana murmured while they listened to a speech by the Minister of State, profusely thanking Albert for his years of dedicated service to the principality. Amazingly, it sounded almost free of sarcasm. 

Andrea glanced at his aunt-by-marriage, who'd chosen to go through the day in a dramatic black robe to express her displeasure of it all. For her this was a humiliating defeat, and not one she had decided to accept gracefully. They'd already weathered a tantrum when she'd been told that her days as Princess of Monaco were numbered, and Pierre and Alexandra were ready to interfere if she happened to give that approach another try. They could do without screaming matches on this day; the tabloids were already full of the drama even without her making a mess of it. Right now all she did was look funereal and ready to burst into tears at a calculated moment. 

"I think she's decided to go for the 'Tragic Princess' headlines," he murmured back. Those were by far the preferable ones anyway; nobody would pay much attention to her in that case. If there were kicking and screaming, the press would have far more fun.

The speech came to an end, accompanied by a polite smattering of applause as the crown council assembled around the table on the small stage that had been set up. Albert rose from his seat, and Andrea suddenly found it hard to breathe.

"Don't panic," Tatiana whispered, reaching for his hand. Her fingers were warm against his skin and he clung to the reassurance of this small contact. This was it, he thought as he watched Albert sit down on the stage. For a moment his uncle was looking at him; their eyes met and Andrea had to force himself not to look away. 

Documents were put in front of Albert in embossed leather folders. His last acts as ruling Prince of Monaco, the last laws and princely commands he'd put into effect. They'd all been careful to make sure there would be no surprises here, no last-minute changes to alter the agreements laid down in those papers governing the succession as well as the hand-over of the official properties of the Prince. 

One last signature, this time on a lavishly decorated document with gold trimmings and elaborate scarlet wax seals dangling on silk cords, and the time of Albert II as Prince of Monaco was over. The reign of Prince Andrea had begun.

"Congratulations," his mother murmured to his right. Tatiana's grip on his hand tightened, and he was glad beyond words that she didn't let go.

There was a procession from the palace to the cathedral next, with Andrea and Albert walking side by side at the head, waving to the people who'd come to see their former and their current Prince. For once the narrow streets of the old town were crowded, but Andrea had no time to really notice the difference in attendance or what this meant. He was far too occupied with the thoughts racing in his head: relief that what had dominated his past few years was finally over and dealt with, astonishment that this had come to pass, and sheer and utter terror at the task before him.

Albert didn't say a word to him during the walk, and in the cathedral they fortunately sat opposite from each other in the pews to both sides of the altar. Flanked by Tatiana and his mother once again, in the row behind them Stefano on Pierre's lap and Louise safely held by Charlotte. It felt like drawing boundaries once again, with Albert no longer the Prince and his wife no longer Princess, while the new inner circle sat opposite from him in plain sight.

Glancing at the rows of seats in the central ship of the cathedral, Andrea caught a glimpse of Carl and Wills right in the first row. The others would be somewhere nearby as well, as all royal heads had been placed together. Andrea hadn't dared to hope that there would be so many of them in attendance, not when this was just about a lowly principality exchanging one scion of a rather questionable, scandal-prone dynasty with another. He'd allowed himself to count on Wills and Carl, as well as Guillaume and Amedeo because those were friends a lot more than they were peers. But with the rest, it was the sort of surprise that Andrea hadn't let himself even consider. The future rulers of almost all of Europe's monarchies, assembled to watch the coronation of a Grimaldi. Andrea didn't think his ancestors had managed that sort of feat. Albert certainly hadn't.

There was something comforting about following the mass, even though it was held in his honour. This was played according to rules Andrea knew well enough that he didn't have to consciously think about it, and it gave him a much-needed chance to catch his breath and regain his balance. He'd need it for what was still to come. 

Behind him, he heard Stefano ask a low-pitched question about the cameras, and Pierre's murmured reply. This was going to be normal for them from now on, this exposure to the public and the press. Deals would have to be struck to limit it all, Andrea knew, but they hadn't been able to do that yet. Another task to go on his seemingly endless lists, one of the most important ones. If the children had to grow up in Monaco at least part of the time, then he'd do his utmost to protect them, no matter what it took. There had to be some advantages to becoming Prince of this madhouse.

Mass followed its usual course for a comfortable hour, then deviated from the rules of liturgy when the archbishop moved forward and led a prayer for Monaco and her future sovereign couple. The Grimaldis had always been a Catholic dynasty, and so there had been no real reason to alter this part of the investiture procedures when they'd kept to it for eight centuries now. 

"You can do this," Tatiana whispered to him as they listened. 

"I better had, or I'm going to be in trouble," he returned, attempting a smile that fell short and turned into a half-hearted grimace. 

With the prayer over, Andrea took a deep breath and rose from his seat to slowly walk forward to the central aisle. Out of the corner of his eye he registered Guillaume, looking so very serious and surely aware that he'd probably be the next to go through such a ceremony, just with much more preparation, much more suitability. If their places were exchanged, he'd surely not feel his knees tremble, his throat so tight that every breath was an effort. Briefly their eyes met, and Guillaume gave him a minute nod, enough to make him keep on walking. He saw Wills and Carl but didn't dare to even glance at their faces for fear of breaking his concentration and losing his nerve. 

Holding himself as straight as he could, his steps carefully measured, he approached the prie-dieu which had been set up in front of the altar for him like a sacrificial tableau. He bowed his head and crossed himself, then knelt on the padded cushion, his folded hands on the sloping arm rest in front of him. 

More prayers, more preaching and he listened while his knees hurt and his back ached from the tension in his muscles, but didn't dare to shift for fear of losing his balance. The scent of wax candles was in his nose, blended with that of the red and white roses they'd chosen for the decorations that day, and he wished he had something, someone to look at and focus on. Behind him, they were all watching, he could almost feel their eyes on him. Turning around wasn't allowed, though, so he remained still and tried not to pay too much attention to the way the uniform he'd been convinced to wear chafed his throat and was far too hot and stifling for comfort.

Finally the archbishop moved into his field of vision again, holding the heavy gold chain which was the sign of the Prince of Monaco. No crown or coronet for the Grimaldis, they'd never been ranked high enough for that, and Andrea figured he should be grateful. But the chain wasn't much better and carried the sort of symbolism he really didn't want to consider, even though he'd deliberately chosen it in the end. 

He felt the cold metal against the skin at the nape of his neck for a moment, then the archbishop adjusted the chain so it dropped further down, its weight heavy on Andrea's shoulders. Prayers once again, then the choir began to sing, but he had no ear for it all anymore. 

Prince Andrea of Monaco. 

He'd better get used to the idea.

The Monegasques didn't seem to have any trouble with the change in government. There were cheers everywhere as soon as he left the cathedral after mass, the rest of the congregation following behind him. 

"Congratulations," Pierre murmured when he fell into step by Andrea's right side while Tatiana moved to his left. It wasn't entirely according to the order of precedence, but Andrea couldn't have cared less. He wanted them there - _needed_ them there - and right now that was all that mattered.

Andrea threw his brother a wry look and did his best not to let his nervousness show. Pierre would guess, of course, but usually he was kind enough not to comment on it. 

"Just a little longer," Tatiana said, her voice pitched to a reassuring tone. "You've almost made it."

"Almost," he echoed. "Where are the peanuts?"

"Charlotte's got Stefano and Alexandra has Louise," she assured him. "Don't worry, focus on walking."

As if on cue, he stumbled on the cobblestones and skipped a step, his shoes shuffling on the uneven surface as he struggled not to lose his balance. It was the only mishap on the way, fortunately, and soon they were in the square before the Palais Princier for the next point on the day's schedule. Somewhere behind him, he knew that the rest of the family were moving up to the balcony overlooking the square, their spot for this part. Pierre, too, left after a final encouraging murmur. Only Tatiana stayed with him, though a few steps away to one side while his mother and Albert stood on the other. More symbolism, of the sort the photographers would love and Andrea really could have done without since he hated standing there by himself. 

The parade seemed to take forever, especially for a tiny place like Monaco which wasn't supposed to have nearly as many soldiers as Andrea felt were walking past him right now. The mere idea that he now was their commander in chief was baffling - he had no idea what to do with an army, never mind how small it was. Half of them appeared to be musicians, and a grand total of ten were mounted and probably comprised his entire cavalry. But they all were going about their marching back and forth so earnestly that he almost forgot about his aching feet and the itchy uniform.

He caught sight of Carl and Amedeo at one point but not their husbands, which puzzled him for a second before he had to salute once more. The Conseil de la Couronne came towards him now - still Albert's choices, not his own, and he knew that of the seven men and women in front of him only two would keep their positions beyond today. This was one of the moments he'd dreaded about the day: the head of the Conseil carried his personal standard, still wrapped tightly. Andrea hadn't been permitted to participate in its design, but he'd be stuck with this from now on. That his mother had been involved was somewhat reassuring, but he still didn't like not knowing what it was going to look like. 

His concerns vanished entirely when he was handed the standard and unfurled it. It showed his initials, as expected, but where he'd worried that it would be bland and unimaginative, the letters were carefully and elegantly balanced, all bold strokes and swirling flourish. This he could definitely get behind; whoever had designed it... A thought crossed his mind and he turned his head to look at Carl in the front row of spectators. His friend just smiled at him, eyebrows waggling, and Andrea could have kissed him out of sheer gratitude for this gift.

Albert came forward now to shake his hand, but didn't say anything. No congratulations, no wishes for good luck. He had to regret going along with this by now, there was no doubt about that, but he should have known to play it up for the press. There'd be pictures of a blank-faced former Prince and a determined-looking successor, Andrea knew, but there was little he could do about it.

His mother was next, with a kiss to his cheek and a triumphant glint in her eyes. She had what she'd always wanted now, the reins of the principality firmly in the hands of her line. Perhaps she regretted that it hadn't been soon enough to give her a chance at ruling, but just the satisfaction of seeing her son in charge made her look positively radiant that day.

"I knew you'd do it," she told him, quiet enough that nobody could overhear.

He met her eyes. "Let's hope I'll do it properly, too."

The next move was to return to Tatiana's side and walk into the Palais Princier with her, the new Prince and Princess of Monaco. There would be a formal lunch reception waiting for them in there, with a hopefully less formal gala in the evening. At some point, they might even get to relax for a minute and have their own small celebration.

He happened to glance up at his family on the balcony when they approached the gate, and frowned with confusion when something was out of place. Then he saw it, a smile of surprise on his face: Wills and Victoria were up there with the assembled Grimaldis, holding Stefano and Louise in their arms. Guillaume, too, stood with them and together they gave an unmistakable signal that the newly minted Prince of Monaco had been welcomed into the royal fold.

***

"How many have panicked so far?" he asked Tatiana when they managed to have a moment of privacy on the way back from the reception. Andrea was expected to spend the afternoon with the Conseil d'Etat, but they'd mercifully granted him a full hour to catch his breath and actually eat something after the formal lunch had been one of those frustrating exercises with minimal amounts of inedible food on the plates. 

"Politicians? About half of those who have reason to." She frowned. "And a few who don't. Pierre is looking into those in case we missed something."

"I've had three council members come up to me to tell me that they've not done anything worth kicking them out. Makes you wonder what they _have_ done."

"More names to check out?" Tatiana asked, her posture immediately relaxing once they stepped through the door that divided the public areas of the palace from the private ones. 

Andrea nodded. "I'm afraid so. We may end up posting job offers worldwide if this continues, we're running out of actual Monegasques. I've already signed the order to renounce residency rights for the worst offenders, Mama managed to slip it into the stack of documents they had me sign for the photographs." A handful of names only, but those who had given them all a headache for months now due to their criminal connections. Andrea still wondered how Albert could have missed this, because not even his uncle could have handed out residency rights and, in a few cases, citizenship, to people on Interpol's watch lists. 

"We'll have a few interesting days ahead," Tatiana said as they reached their palace apartment. Andrea had the right now to move into the grander quarters of the reigning prince, but for now that was so far down on their list of priorities, he didn't think they'd ever get around to it.

"Interesting is an understatement," he said, catching her hand before she could move out of reach. 

She watched him, curiosity in her dark eyes. 

"I'm sorry to do that to you," he told her quietly. 

"As if I didn't have a choice about it," she countered. "It's not been just your decision, don't flatter yourself." The kiss to his temple did much to soften her words, but he was too high-strung right now to really read her. 

"Still... you didn't have to go along with it."

The way she studied him was all too knowing. "I didn't," she agreed, "but I wasn't about to let go of you. And now stop being sappy."

He had to laugh despite himself. "As you command, my dear lady," he told her with a bow of his head. "Or should I say, Your Serene Highness?"

"You'd better remember that." Another glance that had him wonder what exactly she was looking for, followed by one of those smiles of hers that always had his undivided attention so he wouldn't miss a moment of it. "I'm proud of you," she said. "Or rather, you should be proud of yourself for going through with this."

There really wasn't anything he could have said in reply, so he didn't even try and instead kissed her, putting into that gesture what he couldn't put into words.

***

The gala was supposed to be less formal and a chance for actual celebration, but nobody seemed to have mentioned that to the politicians who were circling him like sharks in search of a juicy meal. Andrea had already spent an hour deflecting more or less subtle attempts of people trying to figure out where they stood with him, and he had the dreadful suspicion that this wasn't going to let up anytime soon. To make matters worse, they were starting in on his friends as well: at least one or two had tried to chat up Wills and Carl, probably in the hope of ingratiating themselves with their new prince by being friendly towards his personal guests.

"Vultures," Tatiana muttered and handed him a glass of amber-coloured liquid that turned out to be watered-down whisky when he sniffed at it. "The next one who tries to pretend that he's always secretly supported you gets banished from the party."

"Or we just kick all of them out so we can enjoy ourselves," Andrea suggested. "Everything all right with the peanuts?" 

"Overexcited, but there was no way around that. Small children and state functions don't go together." She paused to treat an approaching council member to a scowl dark enough to make the woman veer off and pretend she'd been headed somewhere else. "How are you holding up?"

He took a slow breath. "We've had parties that were more fun," he said. "Even though it's admittedly entertaining to see all those idiots anxious about where they stand with me. How long do you think we can keep them on their toes?"

"As long as possible," Tatiana said, her frown smoothing into a smile when Mette-Marit and Máxima waved at them from the other side of the room. Whatever the other consorts had shared with her over the past months in terms of preparation for what she had to expect as the new Princess Consort of Monaco, it had put her on much more solid footing than she could have reached with only Andrea's assistance. Another reason to maintain close ties with the other members of their peer group - they had perfected the art of positioning their lives between politics and impartiality without losing themselves in that constant balancing act.

They had to split up eventually; Tatiana went to network with a handful of South American ambassadors while Andrea found himself trapped by a Canadian investor who seemed unable to get the hint that Monaco wasn't about to invest heavily into reforestation due to the simple fact of lacking the space to do so. He was just explaining for the third time how every square meter of space was accounted for and how they really couldn't tear down buildings to plant trees when Amedeo walked past them, frowned at the scene and stopped. 

Andrea shot him a desperate glance. Amedeo quirked an inquisitive eyebrow, smirked and moved in for the kill. "Monsieur Villeneuve? How good to see you, I was just looking for you. The Belgian ambassador has expressed a need for your expertise and I promised I'd mention it to you. She's been hoping to speak to you all evening."

"Has she? That is..." The man was visibly torn between politely continuing his conversation with Andrea and this much more interesting opportunity. "Monseigneur..."

Andrea graciously waved his hand. "We'll continue later," he said. "Don't let me keep you."

Together with Amedeo, he watched as Villeneuve beat a hasty retreat. "Thanks for that one. Does the ambassador really want to talk to him?"

Amedeo grinned. "Of course not, but there's no way she'll admit that. They'll just be polite to each other for a while and figure out soon enough that they've got nothing in common. How are you holding up? You look a little green around the nose."

Andrea sipped at his diluted whisky, which was too warm by now to truly taste pleasant. "Word of wisdom for you and Guillaume: when they put him on the throne, try to leave the country and escape the festivities."

"Small chance of that," Amedeo said with a shrug that looked suspiciously resigned. "It's all part of the game."

"Not a fun part, though."

"Don't tell me you aren't happy to have us all here. We didn't come just for the weather, you know?"

"No, it's not that, it's... I'm glad you could make it. I wasn't counting on it, and it means a lot. I know it's not always so easy-"

"Andrea," Amedeo interrupted firmly, "stop babbling, will you?"

Andrea shut up and blinked at his friend. 

"Much better. We really need to keep the political vultures away from you, they've already addled your brain. Is there anyone official you still need to talk to tonight, or shall we start running interference?"

Still blinking, Andrea did his best to follow that new line of thought. "I don't think so?" he hazarded. There still were countless people left who wanted to speak to him about policies and favours and laws and whatever else they thought the new Prince of Monaco should bend to their advantage, but as far as he could figure out, nothing that couldn't wait until his first actual work day tomorrow. 

"Then get them used to the idea that you're the one making the rules," Amedeo said. 

Andrea cocked his head. "I'm not sure I should take political advice from you," he drawled. "Or I'll end up marrying off Stefano to the future Queen of Spain so my grandchildren can inherit the country."

Amedeo pretended to look thoughtful for a moment. "Actually..." he began, then grinned. "Nah, better not. It's a good thing you Grimaldis are focused on a small rock, who knows what you might get up to if we gave you an actual country to play with." 

"You're one to talk,"Andrea shot back. It was an effort to keep from laughing, with the strain of the day and this sudden chance at easing up and letting go of some of the tension. Amedeo had to know about that, he realised, and was probably giving him a deliberate outlet to distract himself. "As if Luxembourg is that much larger."

"Pot, kettle, black," Amedeo said dismissively, smiling when his husband came to join them.

Guillaume treated Andrea to a wary look and let himself be drawn into a loose half-hug by his pet archduke for a second before straightening again. "What are you two up to?" he asked. 

"Just comparing sizes," Amedeo said, managing to maintain an expression of pure innocence when Guillaume's mien froze immediately. "Any input on that?"

It was impossible to resist. "Don't say anything wrong now," Andrea added with a wink. 

Shaking his head, Guillaume glanced at him, then back at his husband. "You two... This... No, just no." He glowered at Amedeo. "You're doing this on purpose."

Grinning, Amedeo patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Of course we are, you looked like you could use some ruffling."

"That's debatable," Guillaume grumbled, but Andrea noticed he didn't protest anymore when Amedeo pecked his cheek with a casual informality that had to be beyond Guillaume's idea of acceptable public displays of affection. Andrea didn't think they'd ever lose that mercurial edge to their relationship, but by now they'd found ways to balance each other. Guillaume wasn't even batting an eye anymore at tabloids claiming that his pet archduke was flirting with Theodora or, alternatively, her hockey player.

(Andrea, on the other hand, had spent an hour on the phone after coming across that rumour to verify that Amedeo and Theodora had indeed never gotten up to anything of the sort, because it was simply too terrifying to consider.

"Imagine if they'd started to breed," he'd tried to make Tatiana see his point, but all he'd gotten had been desperate flailing when she'd tried not to burst out laughing. "Archducal valkyries, I'm sure that would have been a sign of the impending Apocalypse.")

It was well past midnight when his mother tracked him down. Andrea had spent the last hours as the beneficiary of young royals playing the game of distraction and interference, a handful of them always close to keep him free of unwanted company. With Tatiana they were being more obvious about it; she'd been firmly guarded by Theodora and Máxima for most of the night, with forbidding glares thrown at anyone who'd attempted to approach.

"Congratulations," his mother told him and offered him one of the two champagne glasses she was carrying. 

Andrea raised his glass to her in response. "To you, too." He knew it mattered more to her than to him, and he still wondered a little that she hadn't seized the throne as the first in the line of succession behind Albert. He suspected she knew that a young ruler with plenty of time ahead of him was better for the principality, but it wasn't enough to truly explain her motivation behind it. Perhaps it simply was the pragmatic reasoning that she didn't want to put up with the day-to-day efforts of running this madhouse, and preferred to choose what she had to deal with.

It was something he tried not to think about too much because whenever he lingered on her reasons, he ended up at the realisation that she'd essentially thrown him to the wolves. With the best intentions, to be sure, but Monaco had been put ahead of him in terms of importance.

"You've done well today," she said after a sip of champagne, her eyes on the assembled guests. A few had left by now, but most were determined to be seen by their new Prince. Andrea wondered just how long he could keep them all awake if he simply refused to go to bed himself. 

"Did I have a choice to do anything but well?" he asked, no particular emotion behind the words. It was a rhetoric question more than anything else, and one he and Tatiana had long settled for themselves. 

His mother glanced at him. "No," she said simply. 

The trappings of birthduty once again, and he had to live up to all the expectations placed upon him at his birth because Albert had never fulfilled those laid at his feet. It wasn't fair, but if he'd learned one thing over the past few years, then that these things never were.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it?" he said, looking at the sparkling liquid in his glass. He shouldn't drink it, he knew; he'd been careful all evening to walk the line between pleasantly buzzed and actually drunk. It simply was a weakness he couldn't afford when official matters might intrude. Yet another limitation this new life brought. 

"Of course not," his mother said. "If it were easy, anyone could do it."

He shot her a look from the corner of his eyes, waiting. 

It earned him a brief laugh from her that was half amusement, half something else entirely. "You can do it," she told him in that same voice she'd used when he'd been six years old and about to ride a pony for the first time, all confidence and reassurance. "I wouldn't have pushed you towards it if I didn't think so. You're going to make a good prince, Andrea. Don't let anyone tell you differently."

***  
 _May 2021_  
***

As royal weddings went, the party Prince Andrea Albert Pierre of Monaco threw for Princess Theodora of Greece and Denmark for that happy occasion was second to none and had been the talk of society reporters for weeks now. A genuine princess, a grand romance and a gathering of almost that entire generation of royalty, hosted by the new Prince and Princess of Monaco, who'd almost instantly been credited with bringing glamour back to the Côte d'Azure. It was an altogether perfect combination, especially since it meant Andrea had an excuse to have a proper celebration with his royal friends after spending the past months completely stressed out with his new duties.

"You really are the perfect choice for this," he told her when he had the chance to speak to her that evening. "All formidable and scary and impressive."

Resplendent in her golden wedding dress with its flaring skirt and dramatic trumpet sleeves, Theodora winked at him. "The Academy agrees with you, I've heard from reliable sources that I'll get my Oscar nomination for this one."

"A real princess, playing a queen? How much better can it get?" And she'd truly outdone herself with this movie; especially the wedding scene of Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II of England had turned into an instant classic. "They'll give you the award, just like you got the Palme d'Or yesterday. How is anyone supposed to resist you?"

"Point taken," she agreed with a cheerful smile, then summoned the calculating expression that had defined much of her portrayal of Queen Eleanor. Andrea had come to suspect that the medieval lady had been a proto-valkyrie. "And if not..."

"They wouldn't dare," he assured her with a flourished bow, complete with exaggerated, fluttering hand gestures. "As if anyone would deny you your rights. They know now what happened whenever someone said no to Eleanor, they wouldn't risk it with you."

Theodora demurely folded her arms. "I _am_ her granddaughter, a mere twenty times removed."

"See, it's practically your inheritance." It also gave Andrea pause for thought as it occurred to him that if Theodora had Eleanor in her geneaology, he probably did as well. The Grimaldis might be insignificant mongrels with plenty of commoner blood in their veins compared to real royals, but eight centuries were plenty of time to collect colourful ancestors. It probably made him and all the others in his peer group fifteenth degree cousins or thereabouts, which was about as close as he felt comfortable with where some of them were concerned. "What does the boy toy say about it?"

That earned him the predicted glower. " _Jarret_ thinks it's great we've finally got a wedding to show to my mother without the two of us needing to go through it. You know what it's like, we'd have to be insane to voluntarily marry after what Papa did about the wedding of Niko. Máxima still calls it the Big Fat Greek Wedding."

"Oh, I don't know, Tatiana insists it was fun," Andrea said. "Granted, a little unorthodox perhaps, but who if not royalty can be eccentric in those matters?"

Theodora gave an un-ladylike snort. "I'd rather not bother, thank you. Besides, Mama finally is starting to accept that I shall die an old spinster."

Andrea gave her curious once-over, then waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "If you ever change your mind..."

"Says the man who's happily married with two adorable children. Or are you proposing we try something unconventional?"

"Why not? I've got a reputation to establish, Tatiana likes you and you're already godmother to Louise. So if you ever find yourself at loose ends, do let us know."

Theodora knocked back the rest of her wine in one go, much to the amazement of one of her movie sons a few steps away. Andrea figured there hadn't been much partying on set if the poor guy was still surprised to see his fictional mother's tolerance in action. "Thank you for the offer, but if I do end up looking for alternatives, I'll go the tried and true route. Guillaume will finally understand that we were meant to be together."

Andrea had to credit her with extraordinary acting abilities for delivering that line without the merest hint of laughter. "So you'll duel Amedeo for him after all?"

"They gave me fencing lessons for the sequel, of course I will." She glanced down at her glass and frowned. "We might even be able to incorporate that into the next movie."

Apparently Eleanor had been more kick-ass than Andrea recalled from history. Definitely a valkyrie, and her many times great-granddaughter clearly was taking after her. 

They chatted for a little longer until Theodora's boy toy stopped by with a fresh drink for her and a cryptic comment about ducks, penguins and someone called Stanley. Andrea didn't even pretend to understand, and watched cheerfully as Theodora began to drag her man off to find him like-minded friends to talk to. The curse of dating royalty: they weren't used to taking no for an answer. Fortunately for the two of them, Jarret seemed to simply roll with it and not be at all cowed by their Greco-Danish princess. She probably was marginally less scary than insane Russian giants armed with face masks and hockey sticks.

He wandered around for a while, stopping here and there to exchange a few words with his guests. That he couldn't do so just because he enjoyed the party was one of the recently discovered downsides of his new position; there always was that nagging voice at the back of his mind that actors were important to have here, since they brought paparazzi in their wake to add to Monaco's reputation. Glittering parties for movie stars, hosted by the grandson of one of Hollywood's grandest divas... it was the sort of combination Monaco needed, and it was a fun way to spend an evening, but it also was work and Andrea didn't know what to think of that. 

"Why so glum?" Alexandra asked when their paths crossed. "Something wrong, big brother?"

He winked at her. "Just thinking how it's good to have you home for once." His sister was spending less time in Monaco these days, university life demanding too much of her attention for Andrea's - and, even more, Pierre's - taste. "Have you found a way yet to blow the planet through a wormhole?"

"Not yet, but I'm working on it." She moved in for a hug and a kiss to his cheek, and for a moment he got to enjoy having her close before she stepped back again, a manic grin on her face. "They've signed me up for a project with CERN, by the way."

Andrea didn't have to fake being impressed. The family name and fortune did a lot to smoothen paths for all of them, but there were obstacles you couldn't remove by throwing money at them. It was unusual enough to have an actual scientist in the family; having one who was _good_ at the whole blowing-up-tiny-particles thing was downright weird. "Congratulations! I think we'll owe you a wish for that one."

For a second she looked just as excited at the prospect as she had done when she'd been much younger and her older siblings had rewarded good behaviour with that. Usually she'd gone for small things then, like Charlotte riding out with her for the day, or Andrea letting her accompany him on an interesting official assignment. Pierre, of course, had been the preferred wishmaster, though they had all learned to keep an eye on his trips with their little sister after she'd come back home, excitedly chatting about doing the Mille Miglia with him.

(Pierre still didn't understand why that had been a bad idea. Alexandra had wanted to see the race, it had been perfectly safe and besides, driving was far more interesting than just watching. Carl had of course agreed with Pierre when Andrea had attempted to complain to him - a lost battle all around.)

"If I can have a wish," she said, a calculating undercurrent to her voice, "do you mean anything?"

Andrea treated her to an amused glance. "I know you too well to say yes to that. You might have us build you a particle accelerator."

She snorted. "As if. Where would we put it?"

"Point taken. You'd need to chat up someone with a larger country for that to work. So what does the lady desire instead?"

"I'll get back to you on that," she said airily and flashed him a far too innocent smile when he tried a stern look. Then she disappeared into the crowd before he could try more direct forms of persuading her to give up her secrets. 

Sisters. There was no way he'd ever work out how their minds worked. 

Pierre only looked at him oddly when Andrea tracked him down. "Why are you worried?" he asked. "She's harmless, you know that."

"Harmless? _Harmless?_ You do remember what she did to that Savoy prince?"

"A misunderstanding, nothing more, and he didn't bleed all that much," Pierre said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But I'll keep an eye on her if you think it's necessary."

Andrea didn't feel terribly reassured at the prospect, but pointing that out to Pierre was a battle he stood no chance of winning, so he saved himself the effort. "Please," he said. "I can ask Charlotte, too, but you're a lot more effective. You're sure you've got no idea what she's up to?" A thought occurred to him, sending cold shivers down his spine. "She hasn't taken up with some prince somewhere and doesn't want to tell us, right?"

Pierre almost sputtered white wine all over Andrea at that idea, but was conscious enough of appearances to rather risk choking instead. "Who?" he gasped. "It's not like there's anyone left!"

"Good point. Well, unless she's seeing Amedeo's youngest sister, they're almost the same age. And I'm not going to think any further about that possibility because that's simply scary."

Pierre nodded vigorously in agreement. "She'd never... she's far too young and innocent for that."

His brother, Andrea decided, had a somewhat skewed idea of just what their little sister really was like. "Of course she is. But perhaps you'd better go and talk to her nonetheless, just in case?"

Alexandra wasn't going to thank him for siccing Pierre on her. Or perhaps she would simply enlist him for whatever she was up to; he'd never been able to resist her if she'd asked for favours in the right way. 

Little sisters, Andrea had long decided, were simply far too tricky to handle. It was the age difference that did it. With Charlotte he had no such trouble, but she was a mere two years younger than him so that barely counted. But with Alexandra, the fifteen years between them made it simply impossible to get up to the usual sibling pecking order. She'd had her older siblings wrapped around her fingers from the start and she knew only too well how to use that to her advantage.

"Of course they know that," Amedeo said when Andrea pointed that out to him, looking for sympathy he wasn't likely to get elsewhere. "Don't tell me it's taken you this long to figure it out." 

"Figured what out?" Guillaume wanted to know when he came to join them in the window alcove they'd commandeered, two glasses of wine in hand. He passed one to Amedeo, receiving a swift nod of thanks in return. 

"That younger siblings can be difficult because they know exactly how to get their way."

Guillaume sighed. "I could have told you that," he said. 

Andrea quirked an eyebrow curiously. "Your Alexandra is being difficult as well?"

"Don't remind me. I'm sure there are things she hasn't been telling me."

Judging by the way Amedeo suddenly looked like the cat who got the cream, Andrea had his suspicions just what things that might be. He'd always known there'd come the day when permitting a breeding pair of Habsburgs and Nassaus to form would doom them all. And of course their pet archduke would be in the know about it from the start. 

"You could always ask her," he pointed out.

Guillaume gave him a truly scandalised look. "And know for sure? Are you mad? As long as she keeps quiet, I can pretend I have no idea what's going on. Life is much simpler that way."

"That's a very relaxed attitude for you," Andrea said, leaning back against the windowsill. "Are you being good?"

"I don't think that's your business," Guillaume immediately tried to block him.

"Only if you want me to shove you against walls again." Andrea glanced at Amedeo. "Is he behaving himself?"

Amedeo smirked. "Mostly. Thank you again for getting it into his thick skull that he couldn't have continued the way he did."

Guillaume cast his husband an irritated glower. "Amedeo..."

"Don't bother, love, you know that it's true. And you also know that it's done you a world of good." He dropped a kiss against Guillaume's dark hair, to the spot at his temple where their Hereditary Grand Duke had lately begun to gray a little. "Remember, I'd like to keep you for the long term."

Sighing, Guillaume turned towards him. "You will," he said. "But you're all exaggerating."

Andrea and Amedeo exchanged quick looks, bemused smiles included. "Of course we are," Amedeo agreed. "So do us a favour and humour us all so we'll feel better. Someone's got to set an example for how to do the job properly, and it's got to be you. Or do you want Andrea as the role model for the next generation?"

"Perish the thought." Guillaume had a sip of wine, frowned, then looked around. "Has anyone seen Theodora?"

Andrea snickered. "Picked the wrong vintage, did you? Pass it over, I'll be nice and get rid of it for you."

"Already drowning your sorrows?" Guillaume asked as he handed him the glass, an edge of seriousness lacing his words. 

Andrea waved off. "I'm not stupid enough for that anymore. Besides, Tatiana would have my hide, and rightly so. It's just my third glass tonight, that's not getting drunk, that's staying in training so I won't fall over during all those banquets with their required toasts. Being able to drink like a fish is one of those required skills no-one ever warns you about."

"An egregious oversight on our side," Amedeo said dryly. "So how are you holding up?"

"Why is everybody asking me that?"

"Because you're the first one who's actually been put in charge of anything and we're all waiting to see how you'll deal with it and whether the rest of us should run and hide somewhere in the South Pacific."

Guillaume cast his husband a quick look. "Harbouring fugitive thoughts, are you?"

"If I were, I'd better start now, it's not like we'll have much longer." Amedeo didn't seem to have any objections to his own wine; he frowned as he drained half the glass in one swallow, but it clearly wasn't an issue of taste. 

Andrea cocked his head. "Trouble?"

"I wouldn't call it that," Guillaume said.

Amedeo sighed. "No, that's far too much of an understatement." A look passed between him and Guillaume, unreadable enough to make Andrea wonder. The two of them had been preoccupied with something for most of their stay now, but he'd thought it was simply due to the slew of engagements that always came before the summer break, when far too many meets and greets had to be crammed into too few days. 

"So what is it?" he asked. "Don't make me enlist Wills to get it out of you. Though, Guillaume, I'll happily shove you against a wall if you want me to. That was fun, we should do it again."

Guillaume glared at him, the gesture more perfunctory than anything else by now. Andrea wondered whether he ought to pretend to be at least a little cowed. "My father has been inspired by you."

"In what way?"

"In that you're doing a good job at ruling, and that Guillaume surely can do the same, only much better since he'll actually know what he's on about," Amedeo clarified, not bothering to keep the tension out of his voice. "No offence."

Andrea waved off. "None taken. I thought you still have a few years?"

"One, perhaps two, we haven't worked out the exact timing yet." Guillaume sounded resigned about it all, and Andrea could sympathise only too easily. His friend might have been groomed for the role of Grand Duke since he'd drawn his first breath, but that didn't mean he had to feel nothing but delight at finally being pushed into that inevitable position. 

"So you and I get to play on even footing again," he drawled. "Perfect, it's far too boring like this. They keep seating me with all the kings and queens, that's not nearly as much fun as playing with you guys."

"That's not what my grandmother said after the Dutch jubilee party," Amedeo countered, smoothly going along with the lighter tone. "She's still muttering about you."

"Such a lovely woman she is, too," Andrea said, his best innocent expression on his face. "Very spirited."

He still wasn't sure how to feel about his suddenly elevated station that put him above his friends under formal circumstances. He was a reigning monarch now while they all were mere heirs, and while it was something they all happily ignored under most circumstances, there were situations when protocol made it impossible to circumnavigate. Over the past weeks, Andrea had found himself with the Queens of Belgium and Denmark as dining partners, and he was still trying to get over the shock of it all. Cavorting with Amedeo at galas was one thing, dealing with his grandmother under official auspices quite another. If Guillaume ended up on the throne of Luxembourg now, it would at least give Andrea someone his own age to stay close to.

"I assume you two aren't having debates over whether to up and run, are you?" he wanted to know. 

Amedeo briefly looked wistful, then shook his head before Guillaume could notice. "Not much point," he said. "They'd catch us."

"Amedeo..."

"Come on, love, you know it's true. As if they'd let me abscond with you in tow."

Guillaume studied him with that earnest expression he had. "Do you want to?"

Andrea had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. 

Fortunately, Amedeo picked up on the unspoken question as well. "Don't be an idiot," he growled. "Even if I thought we could get away with it, I know it's not an option to vanish somewhere and set up a farm. For one thing, you'd make a lousy farmer, you can't even wear rubber boots without looking like you're hating every moment of it. And do I have to remind you what happened the last time you were supposed to drive a tractor?"

"That was an unfair surprise they sprung on me," Guillaume muttered. "How was I to know how those things work? And I didn't crash into that barn, I just nudged it a bit."

Amedeo sighed theatrically. "See, we're going to have to make sure you are invested as Grand Duke, it's the only way to keep you out of trouble. Or Carl's going to have to give you a crash course in cattle breeding."

"No job alternatives for escapee heirs?" Andrea wanted to know.

"Not unless some hapless republic decides to give a monarchy a try again," Amedeo said with a shrug. "We'll just work with what we'll be getting, it's not like it's a surprise that it's happening. I'd just have liked it if it had come later rather than sooner."

"I know what you mean," Andrea said, and they shared commiserating smiles. "But look on the bright side, for all official events you get to sit on the good chairs from now on, with the arm rests and the proper upholstery."

"A major advantage," Amedeo agreed, not quite able to keep from grinning. "You should have heard my grandfather about it, he said something along those same lines."

Guillaume glanced at his pet archduke. "I assume he's happy you'll finally rule the country through me?"

"Indubitably. He thinks I've just been biding my time and that I'll be in charge now that I've securely wrapped you around my finger."

"As if," Guillaume muttered.

Amedeo looked at him, eyebrows raised. "You wound me," he declared. "When I've worked tirelessly for ten years to become the éminence grise behind your throne. All those sexual favours I've granted must pay off one day."

"I wouldn't worry if I were you, the Habsburg approach is bound to yield results eventually," Andrea said with a smirk. "Just remind him that he'll end up on the couch if he doesn't do as you say."

"Oh, he knows that," Amedeo waved off. Guillaume merely closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, but didn't bother protesting. Amedeo glanced at him, grinned, then leaned down to claim his mouth in a quick kiss. "Just teasing, love. You can have your crown all to yourself, you know I'll be happy to support you every step along the way as long as you don't make me actually rule anything."

"Your ancestors would be disappointed," Andrea said. "I'm sure they've worked long and hard to breed plenty of ambition into their descendants so they'd be proper emperors and empresses."

Amedeo shrugged. "Perhaps, but that same ambition would make me a lousy prince consort. It's much better this way. Guillaume gets to handle the actual ruling, I get to watch his back and bark at him whenever he overdoes it."

Andrea shot Guillaume a sympathetic smile. "That's mostly how Tatiana worked it out, too," he said. "Word of advice, don't bother trying to change it. Whoever thinks our consorts are all meek and supportive has no idea how it works."

"As if I hadn't noticed that yet," Guillaume said, narrowing his eyes when Amedeo did his best to look innocent. "Speaking of Tatiana, where did you leave her?"

"Over in the Mirror Salon, we've divided the territory." It was the easiest way of making sure to share their duties as hosts, though Andrea didn't like it at all that he barely got to see her for the evening. "If you're going to visit with her, give her a kiss from me, will you?"

Laughing, Amedeo moved forward to peck his cheek. "Of course," he said. "As Your Serene Highness commands."

"Why, thank you, Your Imperial and Royal Highness," he shot back, then kissed his friend on the lips before he - or, more likely, Guillaume - could protest. "There, pass that on to my beloved wife for me, will you?"

Amedeo reached out to tousle his hair. "Sure," he promised. "Catch you later, once the crowd's thinned out a bit?"

Andrea nodded. "Or at breakfast, at any rate." Another tradition they'd all kept up whenever his friends were in Monaco, and these days the atmosphere was a lot more relaxed than it had been at that first brunch they'd all had together almost a decade ago. For one thing, Guillaume no longer looked as though he were fearing for his life and virtue.

As soon as Guillaume and Amedeo had wandered off, Andrea was under siege from a number of people he'd much rather avoid for the evening. Nobody really dared to interfere while he was speaking to royalty, but once he lost that protection, the Prince of Monaco was considered fair game for anyone wanting to pitch ideas, requests or occasionally threats. Practice made perfect in that regard; he no longer even flinched when shady men - it seemed a fairly sexist occupation still - came up to him with less than subtle demands about how he ought to comply with their wishes. Half the time it was enough to simply tell them no, something Albert apparently had never done. It baffled them to encounter resistance, and Andrea cynically felt that it didn't bode well for their career in crime if they let themselves be put off by him already. As for the rest, a phone call to Pierre usually took care of them. Andrea never asked just how his brother made them shut up, but so far it worked.

Tonight it was less a matter of bribes and blackmail and more one of simpering starlets and it-girls. He didn't really know what was worse. The criminals were more annoying, but at least he could legitimately get rid of them. With these simpering blondes, having them arrested usually wasn't an option. All he could do was make sure to swiftly raise the standards for Monegasque events again so they'd get actually glamorous people and not floozies with enough plastic in their bodies to save them the need for life jackets.

Prince Albert's legacy, Andrea thought dryly as he half-listened to two of them attempt to figure out whether to try and seduce him separately or work as a pair. 

"... and it's _so_ awesome," one of them cooed at him, a feathery yellow fascinator in her bleached hair that looked as though a budgerigar had collided with her head. "Do you have a yacht, too?"

"Yes, but I'm sure you wouldn't be interested," he said. "We only use it to sail out into international waters so we can sacrifice virgins without repercussions."

The women blinked their heavily mascara-ed eyes, and he could have sworn he heard their brain cells rattle. "Cool," the budgie-free one eventually said. "Can we come?"

Yes, he really needed to see about raising the bar a little where the intellect of his guests was concerned. The media had already begun to make remarks about new eras and Monaco returning to its former glory as a slightly risque, fashionable spot on the Mediterranean. Andrea wasn't certain he wanted to go back to the Somerset Maugham reputation as a sunny place for shady people, but he knew he wasn't going to look back after taking the first steps on a path that brought them back into a more elegant league. 

"We'll see," he drawled and treated them to his best sharp-edged smile, profoundly satisfied when he saw them waver with the first hint of uncertainty. "But excuse me now, I must dance attendance upon the Duke of Värmland."

The two floozies looked thoroughly confused now and were probably trying to work out what sort of dance he meant. Smiling brightly, Andrea sketched a swift bow and retreated before they decided to follow him along. 

The Duke of Värmland was just about to escape out onto the less densely populated terrace when Andrea caught up with him. A hand to Carl's upper arm to make him turn around, followed by a swift kiss to the corner of his friend's mouth, and Andrea was greeted with a bright smile in return. 

"I thought you wouldn't have time for us tonight," Carl told him cheerfully. "Monseigneur le Prince, all busy and important."

"Never too important for you," Andrea assured him. "I hope you like the party? Where's Wills?"

"Theodora has him, she's lost sight of the boy toy and the photographers were desperate to get her with a companion."

"And you lent him to her? How kind."

"Amedeo wouldn't give her Guillaume, so I had to. She's promised to bring Wills back in one piece." He paused. "Well. Not too many small pieces, at any rate."

Andrea nodded sagely. "She's being merciful today. Marriage puts her into a good mood, I think. We should suggest it to the boy toy, surely it's in his best interest to keep the lady amenable."

Carl grinned. "Go ahead with it," he said, "just let me get some popcorn first, I want to enjoy the sight of Theodora shredding you into confetti for daring to mention that idea."

"Perhaps I'll give it some thought first." They stopped at the stone balustrade overlooking Fontvielle and the area where Le Portier would soon begin to take shape. Andrea had signed off on the initial contracts earlier that week, which had rid him of Albert's old corruption trouble and the pressure to adapt Monaco to its constantly growing need for space with one swoop of his pen. An advantage of ruling the principality - it was a lot easier now to make things happen the way he wanted them to. "How was Scotland?"

There immediately was a contended look on Carl's face that told Andrea it had been a good idea not to give his friends a call while they'd been gone. Or perhaps he should have, if only to finally obtain a recording to make Guillaume blush. After their public make-out session at the press conference last year, they could hardly object.

"Over far too soon," Carl said, pushing himself up to sit on the balustrade with no regard whatsoever for his pants. "We'll head up again in August when the rest of the court hides in Balmoral. Want to come and visit?"

Andrea did a quick mental check of his schedule, then nodded. "Definitely. Especially after those pictures of you in a kilt." He let his eyes flicker downwards in a pointed suggestion. "Is it true..."

Carl laughed. "Find out for yourself."

"Oh, I intend to," Andrea leered, and was just about to try for a little cuddle when he was caught around the waist by a firm arm and drawn backwards. 

"Bothering my husband, are you?" Wills murmured in his ear. 

Andrea twisted around to glance at his friend out of the corner of his eye. "Just playing," he assured him and gave a tentative wriggle to see whether he had any chances at escape. When Wills didn't appear about to let go, he changed tactics and snuggled up to him instead. 

"Sometimes I wonder why Tatiana puts up with you," Wills murmured.

"Ask Carl," Andrea suggested with a cheeky grin that earned him a reprimanding growl. It was, however, enough to make Wills release him and move to Carl's side instead. As if there were any need for a demonstration of possessiveness, but Andrea didn't think that would ever stop him. 

Carl shot him an amused smile. "Because she's a very wonderful, very special woman," he said, permitting Wills to catch hold of his hand. "And because she must have the patience of a saint."

Andrea frowned at him. "You wound me." Reaching out with his free hand, Carl tousled his hair, and Andrea ducked away with an indignant grumble. "What is it with you? First Amedeo, now you. Not that I mind if you want to pet me, but Tatiana's going to scold me if I look too much of a mess."

Carl just shrugged. "Merely checking how much of that fluff is styling," he said.

"Satisfied?" Andrea asked, feeling very magnanimous about withholding any and all comments about the growing bald spot on Wills' head. Some things simply weren't fair to tease about and besides, Wills could get up to fiendishly evil revenge if he was properly motivated.

A last pet, then Carl withdrew his hand again. "Setting new fashions, are you?"

"Always, it's part of the job description now and we've got to make at least a token effort." Neither he nor Tatiana were particularly interested in following fads, something that baffled the reporters around them to no end. By now they'd both long worked out their own approach to it all, and the press was welcome to wonder as far as Andrea was concerned. Much to his and Tatiana's amusement, there now were tentative attempts by the lower-rank wannabes to copy their outfits. "On that note, mate, you really need to stop with the hair gel."

Carl shot him a dark scowl. "Says the man who'll wear striped shoes to white tie events."

Andrea smirked and stepped up to him to peck his cheek. "I'm supposed to be all daring and rebellious, you're supposed to be dignified and at least a little bit British by now."

Wills made a wheezing noise that sounded almost as though he were choking on the attempt not to laugh. "As if he'll ever manage that. He's still complaining about us driving on the wrong side of the road."

"It's impractical!" Carl insisted with a swoop of his arm to demonstrate the enormity of it all. "I'm going to have to pick up a right-hand drive GT3 just for England, that's simply not right."

"Or you can come and visit, we drive on the correct side here," Andrea suggested. "I'll even let you have a few rounds on the Grand Prix circuit if you've got time in two weeks."

Carl immediately perked up at the idea and shot a suggestive smile at his husband, waggling eyebrows included. "We don't have anything planned, do we?"

Wills treated them both to his best long-suffering look. "I guess we do now."

Andrea clapped his hands. "Perfect, Tatiana was going to talk to you two about it anyway."

There had to have been something in his tone that made his friends treat him to inquisitive looks before Carl gently kissed his cheek. "You know you just have to say so if you want us to come for a visit, right? Or if you want to visit us."

Humming in agreement, Wills patted his shoulder and not very subtly maneuvered himself between Carl and Andrea. It wasn't in any way a personal move, Andrea knew that; it was simply a statement that Carl was his and that Wills wasn't about to let anyone get grabby without permission. Carl, fortunately for both of them, tolerated that sort of possessive posturing with nothing more than the occasional amused grin.

"I know, and don't think we won't make use of it," Andrea promised. He had his suspicions where the visits from his friends over the past months were concerned, when either Wills and Carl, or Guillaume and Amedeo had always seemed only a few days away. If they thought they ought to keep a closer watch on him, he wasn't about to complain. "But we'll need to work out a system, or your grandmother is going to throw me a formal reception every time I set foot in her country."

It had been the sort of surprise Andrea hadn't counted on. Acknowledgment by the heir generation was one thing, but to be officially greeted by the Queen of England as the new Prince of Monaco was quite another. 

"I'll talk to Gran, don't worry," Wills assured him. "She likes you."

"Fortunately, when your father doesn't," Andrea said, regretting the words almost immediately when he saw his friend's expression darken. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

Wills sighed, and Carl's hand came to rest on his shoulder in wordless reassurance. "We'll never get through those issues," he said and gave the two of them a humourless smile. "If it goes really badly, we'll ask for asylum in Monaco."

"Wills," Carl said quietly, calmly. "Ignore it. We'll deal with it when we have to."

"As if it's simply going to go away." Wills drew a deep breath, then visibly braced himself. "Sorry. Not the right time for that."

Andrea gave him a cautious smile. "Want to do me a favour?" he asked. "I told Stefano I'd read him a bedtime story tonight, but I'm not supposed to vanish from my own party. If you feel like taking over..."

Wills immediately looked happier at the prospect. Asking their royal friends to be godparents had clearly been one of the smarter decisions in Andrea's life; it gave the children an edge they'd need as members of a mere princely house, and for the godparents it was an opportunity to act out paternal urges on occasion. Stefano and Louise were still far too young to notice, but Andrea was already looking forward to the day when they worked out that their occasional babysitters had been a little different from what other children could expect.

"Any particular story?" Wills asked. 

Andrea smirked. "We're halfway through _The Hobbit_. How is your Gandalf voice?"

"We'll make do," Carl said, hopping off the banister. Wills automatically reached out to steady him. "Don't wrap the party up before we're back, I still need to talk to Amedeo about that sex toy investment scheme he's cooked up."

Wills blinked. "He's serious about that?"

"He's a Habsburg, what do you think? You _know_ him."

"... forget I asked. But promise me we aren't investing, you don't want to imagine what the press will come up with if they get wind of us owning porn industry shares."

Grinning, Andrea stepped aside to clear the way. "That you two are having a happy marriage that isn't about to get boring anytime soon?"

"You've had the paps after you for how long, twenty years? And you can still be this optimistic?" Wills shook his head. "No investing."

Carl glanced at him. "But..." 

"Look, if we do that then a kiss isn't going to be enough at the next press conference." A hand at the small of Carl's back, Wills maneuvered the two of them past Andrea. "Let's go do harmless things."

"Like reading stories to little Grimaldis?" Carl asked. "Andrea, want to come along?"

Laughing, Andrea seized the moment to swiftly snuggle up to him and give him a friendly kiss on the cheek. Then, in response to the possessive growl this elicited, he did the same with Wills as well. "I really can't vanish from my own party. But if you want to stop by later..." 

His suggestive smirk earned him an amused snort of half-swallowed laughter. "Keep dreaming," Wills told him. 

"One day..."

"... Tatiana will fit you with a leash, collar and muzzle," Carl finished for him, then tugged at his husband's hand to get him going again. "Come on. Baby Grimaldis now, big Grimaldis later."

Andrea watched them leave, past the guards who protected the private section of the Palace and up the stairs, then returned his attention to the party again. A success, he knew - there'd be plenty of positive reports about Monaco in the papers, about princesses and princes and movie stars, with the stylish palace setting to match. He really owed Theodora a favour for letting him celebrate her, no matter how much the lady deserved it. 

Not that she was the only woman deserving of praise and adoration among those assembled here, and once the crowd had thinned a little, Andrea went in search of the lady first and foremost in his mind.

She held court in the Hercules gallery, beautifully fierce in her flowing red gown. The counsellor of urban planning was attempting to draw her into a discussion, but judging by the look on Tatiana's face, she was less than impressed by it all and currently not willing to feign interest. 

Smirking, Andrea leaned against the doorframe and watched for a few seconds as the counsellor kept on talking, then stilled when the man put his hand on Tatiana's upper arm in a gesture far too familial. 

Tatiana obviously agreed with that assessment, if her immediate tension and the frown on her face were any indication. She straightened, reached up to bat the offending hand away, and glowered at the fool until he fumbled an apology and beat a hasty retreat.

"Twat," she hissed, loud enough to make several people in the room duck their heads. They'd all watched, of course, and had hopefully learned the lesson that one approached the new Princess of Monaco at their own risk when it was related to an attempt to direct Andrea's politics. 

Pushing into motion again, Andrea prowled towards her, inwardly smiling at the way her dark eyes locked with his, all firmly welcoming. "Annoy you, did he?"

"He tried," she allowed. "As if I'd permit him to succeed."

His gaze unwaveringly on her, Andrea caught her hand and brought it up to brush his lips against her fingers. "Never, my dearest lady."

She cupped his cheek with her hand and stepped up to close the distance between them and kiss him with no regards for onlookers' delicate sensibilities. Andrea went along with it without even thinking about it, his arms coming around her to draw her flush against him. 

"Think we've scandalised enough people?" she murmured against his lips, and he could practically feel her smile. 

"I don't know," he returned, pausing for a swift nuzzle at the corner of her mouth. "Perhaps we should make sure."

Her hand sliding down his back to settle firmly on his arse left him with no doubt as to her agreement. "We may be confusing our guests."

Andrea hummed to show that he'd heard, but was far more interested in nibbling on her earlobe to reply. This _was_ pushing it, though, and he eventually drew back just far enough to rest his forehead against hers and lose himself in her dark eyes a little longer. 

"Interesting evening?" Tatiana asked, her voice pitched somewhere between soothing and teasing. 

"Not so interesting that I didn't miss you."

Laughing, she rubbed her nose against his. "Excellent answer, well done."

He gave her a hopeful smile. "Does it earn me a reward?"

"We'll discuss that later," she returned with a wink. "Have you checked on the peanuts?"

"Carl and Wills went up, they looked like they could use a break so I let them do the bedtime story." He looked at her, eyebrows waggling suggestively. "We should see if we can't rope them into babysitting tomorrow, too."

She grinned at the idea. "If they don't mind... Everything all right with them? I talked to Carl earlier and he was pretty preoccupied."

Andrea sighed softly. "Trouble with Charles once again, I think. I wish there were something we could do."

"Offer them a good time when they're here so they can distract themselves." Tatiana brushed a kiss against the corner of his mouth, her hand slipping upwards again to settle at the small of his back. "Unless you want to try and adopt them, that's going to have to be enough."

"Don't tempt me, they'll probably be easier to handle than the two we've already got." 

"You didn't see them at breakfast this morning, or you wouldn't say that. It's hard to believe that Carl's over forty when he still ends up with strawberry jam in his hair at times." Tatiana leaned back a little, just enough that the people around them hopefully no longer wondered whether Grimaldi debaucheries were about to commence. 

Andrea blinked. "What a shame that I missed it, that must have been a prime opportunity for some teasing." But he'd had a meeting early that day, before their guests had been awake, and there had only been time for a shared morning espresso with Guillaume. Their Hereditary Grand Duke might have eased up where his workload was concerned, but some habits apparently were hard to shake off completely, even though he'd made certain to assure Andrea that he'd not planned on working that early.

"You can always go and see if he's gotten it all out already," Tatiana said. "I'm not sure that's just hair gel."

"I would, but Wills always growls at me when I try to lick Carl." Andrea mournfully shook his head. "Very unreasonable, that man."

"As if you wouldn't be the same." Tatiana took a half-step, half-turn to the side and linked her arm with Andrea's, her hand coming to rest at his inner elbow. "Let's go on a round, nobody dares to bother us when we team up."

"Because you can glower so spectacularly," Andrea told her with plenty of admiration. "Did they annoy you with anything serious?"

She shook her head, adjusted the flowing skirt of her dress and off they went on a slow prowl of their territory. "Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow. But better be prepared for a whole stack of reactions to the Zaha Hadid appointment, the construction people aren't happy about it. They've tried to send their wives after me all evening."

"Pierre likes it and says it makes financial sense, and Amedeo agrees with him," Andrea said with a shrug. "That's good enough for me. And you said you like her style, so what's to be unhappy about?"

Tatiana chuckled. "I believe it's less the architectural side and more the fact that you haven't awarded them any contracts. But on a more cheerful note, I've had a few high tech CEOs ask me about talking to you about moving their offices to Monaco. Oh, and it looks like that motorsports museum Carl mentioned last year is going to happen, and that the FIA's smart enough to do it here."

"Where else? For that I'm even ready to suffer through all that noise at the Grand Prix." He leaned in to kiss her temple. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Apparently I'm less scary to talk to than you are."

Which didn't make any sense to Andrea's mind, but he'd long given up efforts to change the rules on this. The spouse of the reigning prince was who people went to if they wanted to have unofficial soundings of their ideas and plans, and with Tatiana they were making no exception. She was the informal path to Andrea, and if the people hadn't worked out yet that she had an equal share in the final decisions, then so be it as long as they talked to _someone_ and didn't stay quiet.

That had been Albert's greatest mistake, this failure to listen, and Andrea was determined not to repeat it. Monaco was small enough that he could keep an eye on it without needing an elaborate bureaucratic system, as long as he paid attention and invested enough time. There was no need to rely on reports when he might as well go for a walk for an hour each day and cover the entire principality within one week. The Monegasques appreciated his new approach, and Andrea had begun to feel cautiously optimistic about it all. There was no immediate threat of crowds waving pitchforks and torches in front of the palace gates, at any rate.

Whether it worked out in the future... There still was so much to do, so many lists left to complete. They had worked almost around the clock for the past months to steer Monaco into the right direction again, but results were slow to show. Rationally, Andrea knew that these things would take months, even years to change; still he needed to see that he was making a difference and that his efforts weren't wasted. He treasured every little success story they had, all those small victories of new gallery exhibitions and positive budget forecasts and contract renegotiations. The greater matters would hopefully come in the future, as long as they maintained their course. As strange as it was to plan decades ahead, it only took a thought of Stefano as the next Prince of Monaco after him to make Andrea feel that it was all worth it. 

"Plotting something?" Tatiana asked, waving in greeting when she spotted a small group of racing drivers by one of the bars. Key ingredients to their success, both of them knew that only too well. Where there was a grand prix, there were drivers, followed by managers and team owners, who'd throw their sponsor parties in Monaco and invite their part of the jet set crowd. More glitter, more glamour, and Tatiana and Andrea made a point to drop by whenever opportunities presented themselves. Having the reigning princely couple make small talk with important party guests did a lot to spread positive opinions.

"I'm not plotting," he protested. "I'm having perfectly innocent thoughts about racing drivers."

Tatiana gave him a sidelong glance. "Of course. Do I have to remind you that Carl is a racing driver as well?"

"But he's a prince first, so he doesn't count. And these days I'm only having pure thoughts about him."

The chuckle this comment earned him was, he felt, thoroughly unfair. "Good. You aren't supposed to have non-innocent thoughts about anyone but me."

He blinked at her in his best interpretation of naive harmlessness. "As if that would ever have crossed my mind," he teased, then turned more serious. "It really wouldn't."

"I know," she said, her hand tightening on his arm. "Stop being silly, there's absolutely no need to worry about that. I'd never have taken up with you otherwise, and it's really too late now for you to start having anxiety issues about it all." She winked at him. "You're mine, remember that."

There really was only one answer to that. "Of course, my dear lady. Whatever you say."

Laughing, she pecked his cheek. "Excellent. I think I'll keep you."

"That's very reassuring to know." Carefully freeing his arm, he slipped it around her waist to tuck her against his side, mindful of her dress not getting underfoot. "Otherwise it would be truly tragic."

She cocked her head to glance at him. "How so?"

"Well, I love you, so it would be very sad if you decided not to keep me." He dropped a kiss against her dark hair, the gesture far too small and yet so familiar to them both.

"Then it's a good thing that I love you too. Can't have you all sad, can we?"

Again he kissed her, smiling into her hair. This was what mattered, these moments when he could hold her close and know beyond the shadow of a doubt that she stood with him, come hell or high water. 

Tatiana sighed quietly, contentedly. "Whatever I did to deserve you..."

"Must have been truly terrible," Andrea teased and earned a jab of her elbow to his side that left him gasping. 

"Quiet, you," she admonished him, the laughter in her voice impossible to miss. 

He winked at her. "If you really want me to, I'll beg forgiveness on bended knee, but that might confuse our guests." Who should be used to their antics by now, but there were always newcomers to these events who hadn't been exposed to Grimaldi eccentricities before. 

"Let them be confused, it's not like we care." Tatiana's arm settled around him to mirror his own half-embrace of her, the gesture anchoring him immediately. 

"We don't?"

She smiled at him. "Of course we don't. This isn't about what they think. This is about you and me. Enough, don't you think?"

Claiming her hand, he bowed to kiss her fingers, her palm, the pulse point at her inner wrist. This wasn't what he'd expected his life to be like, all responsibility and glittering elegance, far larger, greater than it would have been had they taken any other road. "It's more than enough," he told her, and knew that he meant every word and, even more importantly, that she knew it too. "In fact, I think it's absolutely perfect."


End file.
